


Where's Michael?

by carefully_careless



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Aro/Ace Christine, Bisexual Jeremy Heere, But Michael is there, F/F, M/M, Michael is a nerdy flirt, Poor Jeremy, Rich is so done with the pining, Self-Esteem Issues, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, because why not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2018-12-11 15:58:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 41,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11717661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carefully_careless/pseuds/carefully_careless
Summary: Michael is trying to make it big with his writing, when he meets one Jeremy Heere and is given both an inspiration, and a distraction.





	1. Chapter 1

Michael buries his head in his arms, groaning lightly. Writer’s block sucks for everyone, especially for people with deadlines. He contemplates just packing up and going home, but his chiding voice of perseverance keeps him planted in the booth. Deciding to reread the last paragraph, he lifts his face, barely registering the constant dinging of the bell.  
  
The coffee shop is deemed his latest writing spot, where it’s actually considered normal to sit for two hours typing away and looking angry at anyone who tries to disturb him. The headphones around his neck play Bob Marley instrumentals, since the actual words would be a bit distracting in his writing ambiance. The last time he tried to listen to the actual songs, he screamed in anger at his inability to focus. Despite the fact that it wasn’t unusual at Denny’s just after 2 a.m., he was a bit mortified when the wait-staff kept giving him shady looks.  
  
Realizing that he hadn’t been reading the words, he growls, ripping his headphones off and closing his laptop. Taking deep breaths, Michael takes a long sip of coffee, sweetened to what must make the rest of the world cringe. He sets the cup down gently, wishing that his inspiration was never so short lived. He promised himself he would have a chapter done before he ate, which is a pretty decent ultimatum, as his stomach growls hopefully at the smell of the oven opening.  
  
Helplessness sinks into Michael’s stomach, his throat closing up. He digs the heels of his palms into his eyes, pressing his lips together angrily.  
  
“W-whoa, dude. You okay?” A stuttering voice shocks Michael into looking up at the source. A tall, lanky boy stands beside his booth, awkwardly fiddling with his phone. He grips his drink with white knuckles, his face tinted red at the prolonged silence.  
  
“Yeah,” Michael mumbles, studying the boy’s shockingly blue eyes and messed up hair. Freckles dust his face like millions of constellations of stars. He wears a baby blue Pac-Man shirt with a red cardigan over it, which Michael thinks is somewhat fitting. The boy seems to be examining him as well, as his eyes scan his attire and workspace. Finally, those big eyes lock on Michael, widening.  
  
“I win!” He yells in disbelief, before going even more red, slapping his hand over his mouth in shock at his own words. Michael grins, his annoyance seeping away as he leans his chin onto his fist.  
  
“May I ask what you win?” Silently cheering himself for keeping his voice steady, he awaits the answer of the boy, who curls in on himself.  
  
“W-well, you see…” he curses under his breath, his hands shaking slightly. “My f-f-friends and I see you writing all over t-town,” he says quickly, adding, “You’re kinda f-famous.” He takes a deep breath to steel himself, letting it go and saying the rest in one big breath. “You move around a lot, so every time you leave your spot, we try to see who can find you first.” Michael feels himself smile.  
  
“Was this your main objective in coming?”  
  
“No,” the boy says a bit too quickly, “we just keep our eyes peeled, I guess.” He raises his drink a bit, glancing at the name scrawled in sharpie on the front. “I came for some liquid energy.” Michael squints, reading the rushed handwriting. Jeremy.  
  
“Understandable,” Michael muses, running a hand swiftly through his hair. “I personally congratulate you, then. You found Waldo.”  
  
Jeremy looks down, a muttered “Yeah” escaping him.  
  
“Is there a prize?” Michael feels the corners of his mouth quirk up, Jeremy mirroring the expression.  
  
“Whoever finds you first gets shotgun for a week, as well as 7/11 slushies paid for by the others.”  
  
“That’s a prize I can get behind, though may I ask that you have one in my honor?” At Jeremy’s slightly confused nod, he full out grins. “Good job, then.”  
  
Impulse thinking paired with his inability to find any want to end the conversation makes him prolong their talk. “Sit,” he says, gesturing to the empty booth opposite him. At the hesitant look Jeremy gives the door, Michael quickly rushes in to amend his words. “I mean, unless you have somewhere to be. I don’t wanna make you late for anything.” He realizes that if he keeps his mouth open any longer, he’ll become a rambling mess, so he clamps his teeth together.  
  
“No,” Jeremy says after some contemplation. “I don’t have anywhere to be.”  
  
Michael can tell Jeremy is still quite tense as he slides into the seat, sinking down in the cushion. He eyes Michael’s laptop and notepad, along with the numerous empty coffee cups. Finally, his eyes turn down to his drink, the swirling brown liquid immediately becoming more interesting than anything before him.  
  
Michael would love to say that the silence isn’t awkward, it’s just comfortable, but he knows he would be lying to himself. After a few seconds of gnawing quiet, Jeremy looks up, his voice feeble.  
  
“What’s your name?” The boy looks as though he scolds himself at the question, but Michael answers it with a smile.  
  
“Michael Mell, at your service.” He pretends to do a bow, his head dipping low as his arms sweep out. As he looks back up, something warm in his chest unfurls at Jeremy’s laugh. The sound is comforting and Michael makes it his mission to make him laugh again.  
  
They talk for a bit, both sharing small talk.  
  
“How old are you?” Michael gestures for Jeremy to speak, the latter becoming a bit more comfortable in Michael’s presence.  
  
“21. And you?”  
  
“Is that a company?” Michael says more to himself than anything. At Jeremy’s shrug, he answers. “21. You go to college?”  
  
“Nope,” Jeremy says, popping the ‘P’ sound. “I went for two years, got my AAS, and was out.”  
  
“Smart man,” Michael jokes, running his fingers over the laptop. “As you can see, I’m dedicating my life right now to this baby.”  
  
Jeremy nods, an amused smirk on his lips. “So, what are you writing?” His inquiry brings a spark of light into Michael’s eyes as he leans forward.  
  
“That’s a dangerous question, my good sir. Are you sure you want to ask it?”  
  
Jeremy’s eyes hold a note of what must be fear as he nods slowly. Michael laughs and Jeremy ducks his head, something like a smile beginning to play on his red tinted face.  
  
Michael begins to explain his book, or what will hopefully turn out to be a book, Jeremy nodding along with his words. As Michael takes a breath to take a sip of his drink, he notices Jeremy’s gaze at the window. His look isn’t that of longing or wistfulness, but fearful. His furrowed eyebrows lower as he scans the street and the people passing.  
  
“You alright, dude?” Michael asks, lifting an eyebrow. Jeremy snaps his eyes to him, wide with surprise. He sighs, settling down a bit.  
  
“Yeah,” he mutters. He gives Michael what looks like a forced smile before urging him to continue. “Go on?”  
  
So he does. His voice raises and lowers with the story, losing himself in his own excitement. Jeremy smiles and makes comments where appreciated.  
  
“Yeah!” Michael says enthusiastically to a question Jeremy had asked. “So then, he tells him about this thing called a SQUIP.”  
  
“A quick?” Jeremy’s head is cocked in confusion, his supremely pale skin nearly reflecting the lights.  
  
“I like that,” Michael murmurs to himself in consideration, scribbling it down in his notepad. He turns his attention back to Jeremy, who still looks like a lost kid. “A SQUIP. A Super Quantum Unit Intel Processor.” He taps the table with every word said. Jeremy just blinks. “It’s a pill. You take it and the computer thingy inside goes to your brain and tells you what you do to be cooler.”  
  
Jeremy opens his mouth to no doubt ask some question, but Michael beats him to it. “Basically, it’s a wintergreen Tic-Tac that bullies you into being Zac Effron.”  
  
“That sounds pretty cool,” Jeremy compliments, picking at a rubber band around his wrist with a smile. Michael’s breath catches at the sight of his warm eyes crinkling at the edges.  
  
As soon as he prepares himself to continue, a small ring comes from Jeremy’s pocket, making his hands dive into his lap to retrieve it. The gentle smile on his face falls as he reads, making Michael’s stomach clench with worry. Would this have any correlation to why he was so intent on trying to find something in the street? Perhaps someone?  
  
Jeremy presses his lips together and Michael might not be lying when he says he sees tears launch into Jeremy’s eyes. He quickly types a response, his thumbs making quiet tapping noises, nearly drowned out by the buzz of chatter around them.  
  
“Everything okay?” If it was socially acceptable to kick yourself in public, he would have. Both the shaking in his voice and the obvious fact that something isn’t ‘okay’ makes Michael shake his head at his actions, digging his incisor into his lip.  
  
Another notification sound rings out, signaling that the sender replied. The color drains from Jeremy’s face as unabashed fear floods his expression.  
  
“I h-have to go. I’m r-r-really sorry.” Michael’s eyes fill with pain at the return of the stutter, which had disappeared as he got more comfortable.  
  
Michael voices that he understands, telling Jeremy to go handle whatever happened. As Jeremy hoists himself out of the booth, he gives a small wave before turning. He goes a few steps before pausing, whirling on his heel.  
  
“I really hope-,” He stops, his shaking beginning to become more prominent. He shakes his head and sighs. “Yeah. Bye.” With that, he’s off.  
  
Sitting in stunned silence, staring at the spot where Jeremy just stood, he blinks, his concerned frown melting into a tiny smile. Maybe he won’t get tired of this certain writing spot for a while. Or at least until he can get Jeremy’s number.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael finds Jeremy on Instagram and string bean over there isn't getting enough rest

“I swear he’s real, Rich!” Michael argues, staring intently at his phone. Okay, so now he knows that Jeremy doesn’t have a Facebook.  
  
“I don’t know man. You’ve been a total recluse working on that thing,” Rich only half-jokes, gesturing to Michael’s computer. “It wouldn’t surprise me if you’re starting to see things. Do you even sleep anymore or is it just all-nighters at Denny’s?”  
  
Michael chuckles, shooting the boy a rude gesture. He, in truth, only paid attention to half of Rich’s one-sided conversation. Something about the lady at the grocery store mistaking him for a 14-year-old…or something.  
  
For the past hour, Michael had been hunched at the table, trying to find Jeremy on any social media platform. So far, the kid didn’t have Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, or Snapchat. Michael had tried every variation of his name, adding periods and underscores, fishing through the hundreds of Jeremy Heere’s out in the world.  
  
Clicking on his Instagram, he types Jeremy’s name into the search bar, now completely tuning out the short, angry man ranting. Twenty results pop up and Michael scrolls through them, some being private, some more public. Jeremy would go private, right?  
  
Deciding to go for the first private one, he pushes aside his common sense and requests to follow him, swallowing around his nerves and quickly shutting his phone off. “And now we wait,” he mutters, eyes turning up to Rich.  
  
“And then she-,” he pauses, eyes narrowing. “You weren’t listening, were you?”  
  
Seeing no reason to lie, Michael shrugs. “Nope. Sorry.”  
  
Rich pretends to be offended, sucking in a breath and pressing a hand to his chest. “You dare say that I’ve been talking to the ghosts while you surf the internet for your boyfriend?” Michael immediately jumps to defend himself, ears going hot.  
  
“He’s not my boyfriend. Just an…acquaintance.”  
  
Rich snorts. “Yeah. An acquaintance who you wanna marry and have a white picket fence life with.” His voice isn’t really a challenge, just a tease. “This is New Jersey, Michael. Dreams aren’t made here. This nice Jeremy stranger probably has a girlfriend and they bond by chain smoking.”  
  
Michael sighs, nodding. “Not gonna fight you on that.” He pushes his chair out, disappearing into the next room. He hears Rich scoff and call out to him.  
  
“Going to sulk?”  
  
Michael makes a point of poking his head and only his head out from the doorway. “Nope. Going to shower.”  
  
Rich smirks, leaning back in his chair. “Is there a difference?” At the gesture mirroring the one previously made, Michael can still hear Rich’s laughter as he walks to the bathroom.  
  
Michael sheds his clothes as the steam from the hot water fills the small room. He steps in, sighing a bit, his bones singing. As he lets the boiling water roll over him, he tries not to think of the awkward boy from the coffee shop. He tries not to focus on the fact that his hair was so perfect and fluffy and would probably be so very soft, or his how his eyes lit up when he made Michael laugh, or his-  
  
Try, fail, potato, potahto.  
  
Loud knocking shakes him out of his Jeremy-centered reverie as Rich yells from the other side of the door. “Hey, dude! Lover boy accepted your follow request.” Excitement and nerves pool in Michael’s chest as he makes record time in showering. After a few moments of just the sound of water pouring, Michael can hear Rich yell something else. “You’re right, Mell. He’s not so bad.”  
  
Michael goes triple-time, yanking his sweatpants and hoodie on and quickly pulling the door open. Rich leans against the wall, scrolling through something on his phone. Without looking up, he produces Michael’s IPhone and hands it too him.  
  
“Try not to go too stalker on him, ‘kay?” Michael playfully hisses in response, starting clicking one the earliest picture as he walks to the couch, Rich in close pursuit.  
  
In all, there are four pictures. Michael starts at the bottom, scrolling up. A photo of a pug, a bowl full of ice cream, a selfie of him and some girl with short black hair, another of him and some guy holding up game controllers with goofy smiles (to this, Rich wolf-whistles. “Nice.”), and…  
  
“Oh,” Michael mutters, his hopes deflating. He feels himself go numb as he stares at the picture of him and a guy who is, admittedly, very attractive (Though not so much so as Jeremy) pressed cheek to cheek with lazy smiles. The caption reads: “My heart <3”  
  
“At least we know he isn’t a dry pasta noodle,” Rich offers. Straight, Rich. The word you’re looking for is straight. At Michael’s resigned silence, Rich continues. “What’s the date on it? Three months ago? They could have broken up. You don’t know.”  
  
Michael simply shrugs in response and Rich sighs. “Look, Michael, just because he might be a taken man doesn’t mean you can’t still be bros.”  
  
Michael nods, disappointment filling his eyes. “Yeah, Rich. You’re right.”  
  
…..  
  
Despite the major let-down, Rich’s words follow Michael as he walks to the same coffee shop every day for the next week in hopes of seeing Jeremy again. He would get a few sentences of his writing in before shooting his eyes up to the door as the bell rings.  
  
Every day, he went home with less and less hope of seeing the boy that captured his attention in the shop, and Rich promptly did his best friend duties and picked his spirits up by breaking out some of the special liquor and sympathetic words.  
  
Friday rolled around, six days after Michael had met Jeremy, and Michael swears to himself as he trudges along the street that if the boy isn’t there today, he’ll switch spots. There’s a Jamaican yogurt place down the street that looks mighty promising.  
  
He inhales the familiar smell of coffee, taking in the quiet murmurs of the café. It’s May, so some of the college students are holing themselves up at small tables to read and reread their notes. Michael smiles fondly, remembering the days when he would lock himself in his room for hours on end to study, before getting too distracted and driving the streets in his PT Cruiser to see what was still open.  
  
Michael heads to his regular booth before inwardly groaning as he sees the back of a head already sitting there. His annoyance is short-lived, though, as he remembers the soft, curling hair that belongs to none other than Jeremy Heere. Michael feels his heart do backflips, hoping that maybe Jeremy was there to see him.  
  
He musters up all the courage he can fit inside himself and tries to keep his voice steady as he speaks. “Thanks for saving my seat, man.”  
  
Jeremy looks up, startled, his eyes (God, those eyes) finding Michael. Michael notices a bandage covering a majority of his left cheekbone, a bit of angry blue skin peeking out from the edges. The band-aid has “You should see the other guy” printed on the front and Michael frowns. Before Jeremy can justify why he’s there, Michael continues.  
  
“Long time no see. Can I sit?”  
  
Michael waits for the boy to nod. “I mean, it’s only been six days but sure.” He spreads his hands out on the table, pushing a book aside.  
  
“One more and Samara would have gotten you.” Michael chuckles, sliding into the seat across from Jeremy. “Though you look like Samara right now.” He studies the dark circles under Jeremy’s eyes with hesitation. Finally, he decides to change the subject. “So who’s the other guy?” Michael points to Jeremy’s cheek and lifts a somewhat concerned eyebrow.  
  
“My bedroom door,” Jeremy says proudly. Michael leans back, cackling. Jeremy smiles, his shoulders hunched in. “I’m such a clutz.”  
  
“I don’t really doubt it,” Michael says, hints of laughter still coloring his voice. He turns his eyes to Jeremy’s book sitting closed before the boy.  
  
“’Elvis Speaks from Beyond and Other Celebrity Ghost Stories’?” Michael inquires, a hint of a smirk forming on his lips as he tries to calm his erratic heartbeat.  
  
“Don’t knock it ‘til you read it. It’s actually really interesting.” Jeremy goes red trying to defend his book, sliding it towards Michael.  
  
“I’m not interested in reading about how Debra and Todd’s daughter Mickayleigh had her bike stolen by an Elvis look-alike,” Michael laughs, pushing the book back to Jeremy, who sticks out his tongue.  
  
“Hater.”  
  
Michael takes a bit of time to study Jeremy’s change in outfit. Unlike the goofy T-shirt and cardigan like before, he dons a black sweatshirt two sizes too big with navy blue cuffs. The thing engulfs Jeremy, making him look even smaller than he actually is.  
  
Realizing that Jeremy had been asking a question, Michael quickly snaps back to attention, answering with a quick, “Yeah, totally.”  
  
Jeremy just grins, a sly look in his eye. “It wasn’t a yes or no question, Michael.” Said boy feels the color drain from his face as he tries to amend himself. His rambling is cut off by Jeremy, who leans back, stretching his arms across the back of the booth.  
  
“I know I’m irresistible, Michael, but do try to control yourself.” He pauses, seeming to gather the nerves to add, “No matter how impossible that may be.” He throws Michael a dashing smile and Michael wonders if Jeremy knows just how correct his is.  
  
“I shall try to keep my pants on,” Michael smirks, despite the fact that he feels his face burning. Jeremy presses his lips together, ducking his head to hide a bark of laughter.  
  
The two continue to talk, sharing stories about stupid things they’ve done in their childhood and whatnot. As the conversation moves along, though, he notices Jeremy spacing out, staring at…through the table with a blank expression. His eyelids droop slightly and Michael decides to point it out, remembering the prominent bags under his eyes.  
  
“Dude, do you even sleep? You look five seconds away from death.”  
  
Jeremy blinks, shaking his head quickly as if to clear the cobwebs. “Yeah, sorry.” He pauses. “Finals, am I right?” Michael shrugs away the thought that the sentence felt wrong, forced almost, and nods.  
  
Jeremy opens his mouth to speak, rubbing his finger along the band aid as his phone lights up with a text from someone with the contact name, “Everything’s (aro) Ace”.  
  
Michael feels himself let out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding as he sees Jeremy smile. His eyes turn sad as they turn back to Michael.  
  
“I’m sorry. My friend Christine wants me to come help her run lines. She’s in some new play and she’s freaking out about memorization. They’re supposed to be off-book by next Wednesday and-,” he stops, bringing a hand to the back of his neck. “Anyway, sorry, man.” He collects his book, not noticing Michael’s dejected frown. As he walks to the door, it looks as though he sighs, turning and making his way back to Michael.  
  
“You aren’t gonna change places, are you?”  
  
Michael feels warmth spread throughout him. This means that Jeremy wants to see him again, right? “Not unless you want me to.”  
  
Jeremy gives a relieved smile. “Don’t.” Within seconds, he’s out of the shop, walking intently.  
  
Michael sighs, a small grin on his lips as he replays their conversation. A small part of him is still concerned about the fact that he looked like he hadn’t slept in days with his finals excuse. It isn’t until Jeremy is far down the street when Michael remembers that Jeremy doesn’t go to college.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did anyone catch my "Everything's Ace" joke?  
> The book that Jeremy is reading is real, though I haven't ever laid eyes on it. My best friend swears by it, though, so...  
> I thrive on kudos and comments  
> (That sounded like a hip band)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael just wants Jeremy to get some sleep, jesus christ.

“You look happy,” Rich muses, eyeing the smiling Michael that just got home. Michael practically lets out a squeal of excitement, throwing his bag down on the couch.  
  
“He came back! I didn’t think he would, but he did!” Michael practically glows, a wide smile gracing his face.  
  
Rich’s eyes widen in shock. “He did? Really?” He pauses, twirling the red part of his hair with his index finger. “I mean, he obviously did. What did I tell you?” Rich holds his fist up to face Michael, who excitedly bumps it.  
  
“I know!” His smile slowly melts, though, as he remembers the boy’s state. That part wasn’t so great. “The thing is, he was…Spacy? Kinda jumpy, too. I closed my computer and he leaped, like, five feet in the air. I mean the poor kid ran into his bedroom door so he’s got this bruise on his face that’s, like, the size of Russia, and he looked like he would sell his soul for a full night of sleep, but-,” Michael cuts off his own rambling, shaking his head. “Anyway, you were right, I was wrong. Care to gloat?”  
  
Michael looks up at Rich, who frowns at his phone. He flips it’s face to Michael, showing the picture of Jeremy and his maybe-boyfriend to the boy. Rich’s eyes hold hesitation. “Do you think-,” he sighs at Michael’s confused expression. “Nevermind,” he huffs.  
  
……  
  
The next day, Michael stays in his booth, waiting anxiously for Jeremy. An hour after he settles into the seat, Jeremy shuffles in, earbuds tucked in. He turns, scanning the room, his crystal blue eyes landing on a grinning Michael. Jeremy’s entire body loosens as he mirrors the smile.  
  
Their meetings become daily, sharing things with each other that they held close to their hearts, things that they were proud of, as well as little stories and favorites.  
  
(“So,” Michael ventures, hoping he isn’t being too forceful. “what’s your sexuality?” He watches as Jeremy goes a bit red, looking up from the sip he had been taking of his drink. Michael takes the quiet as denial and quickly goes in to save the conversation. “Unless you aren’t comfortable telling me! That’s totally fine, y’know. I understand. Why would you share that with a person you don’t even know their number, right? So weird of me to ask.” Jeremy’s tiny chuckle shuts him up.  
  
“No, dude, you just caught me by surprise. I’m bi.”  
  
Relief floods through Michael as he stretches his hand across the table to shake Jeremy’s. “Hi, Bi. I’m Raging Homosexual.”  
  
Jeremy laughs, cocking his head. “Raging, huh?”  
  
“You doubt me?”  
  
“No, Michael, I really d-,”  
  
“Hey!” Michael calls, cupping his hands around his mouth, his face turns to the rest of the coffee shop. “I’m gay and dudes are hot.” Jeremy snorts, pressing his forehead to the table as he tries not to die of laughter as a voice from the back of the café shouts back.  
  
“Preach!”)  
  
They exchanged numbers that same day, Jeremy taking Michael’s earlier statement to heart and deciding to fix it.  
  
Michael found out that Jeremy’s mother left when he was 9, running away from the burden that she made Jeremy out to be. For years, Jeremy said, he blamed himself, until he got a card from her for his 17th birthday in his mailbox. He wasn’t even 13 at the time.  
  
Michaels learned that some girl named Christine was a theatre obsessed angel on Earth, who dragged Jeremy into the play in junior year and he ended up absolutely loving it. Michael tried to picture Jeremy up on stage spouting Shakespeare and thought it would look adorable. He found out that Jeremy’s favorite color was blue and that he liked brownies and the smell of firewood. He claimed that it was comforting.  
  
Jeremy, in turn, heard about the time Michael got wasted on his 21st birthday, having his friend Rich take him to get a tattoo. The next morning, he had woken up with a colossal hangover and a bright Pac-Man chasing dots down his forearm. He kept it.  
  
Michael told Jeremy how he liked the color red because it represented fire and anger, but also passion. He told the boy about that time he got high and hung his head out of his apartment window,, saying hi to everyone who passed by.  
  
Needless to say, over the course of the next week, the two grew close. The only thing that would make it more perfect to Michael would be Jeremy not looking like a zombie every day. He would walk in, always a new band aid with something like “I tripped over my pet shark” plastered on the front, accompanied by a story of his clumsiness.  
  
His bags were always more and more pronounced and the light slowly died from Jeremy’s cerulean eyes.  
  
Finally, nearly two weeks after they first met, Michael couldn’t take it.  
  
….  
  
Michael tenses a bit as Jeremy’s head falls on his shoulder, Michael having told him to sit beside him so he could read what he wrote that day. The book was coming along nicely, Michael growing closer and closer to “The End” every day, and he would be crazy if he wasn’t proud of that.  
  
Michael scrolls to the top of the document where the chapter starts and pushes his shoulder up gently, jostling Jeremy’s head. “Hey dude. You good?”  
  
Silence. “Jeremy?”  
  
“Huh?” The sleepy voice beside him crushes Michael’s heart. Realizing what he was doing, Jeremy shoves himself off of him, eyes widening as he showers Michael with apologies.  
  
“No, Jeremy, you’re fine,” Michael says quietly, his assurances tying Jeremy over for the time being. Michael sighs, still feeling the warmth from Jeremy on his shoulder, his side going cold at the lack of contact.  
  
More silence.  
  
Michael skims what he already wrote, adding a sentence of dialogue here, taking one away there. He takes a few seconds to slide his eyes to Jeremy, starting when he realizes that the boy sits, his head hung low.  
  
At first, Michael fears that he’s upset, but he soon realizes that he’s asleep. Making a quick decision that probably shouldn’t be made, he grips Jeremy’s shoulder. Said boy jumps, leaning backwards in the seat with wide eyes staring at Michael, then darting around the small shop.  
  
“It’s okay,” Michael rushes the words out of himself, trying to calm his startled companion. A moment’s hesitation and he adds, “Get up.”  
  
Jeremy’s eyes dim with hurt and his face goes slack. He blinks a few times, not moving.  
  
“Get up,” Michael insists. “You’re coming with me.”  
  
Only a small “Wuh?” sound escapes Jeremy, who doesn’t more an inch.  
  
“Dude, you can’t expect me to let you go outside acting like Sleeping Beauty, running into lampposts and mailboxes. You’re coming to my apartment and you’re getting a nap.”  
  
Jeremy looks like he might argue, but finds no use, shrugging and sliding out of the booth. Michael follows, shrugging his bag over his shoulder, dropping three dollars in the tip jar up front, and guiding Jeremy outside. They embark, not speaking much as Michael maneuvers the streets, walking fervently towards his apartment. Jeremy occasionally opens his mouth to claim that Michael doesn’t need to worry, but Michael has none of it, insisting that the boy get some rest.  
  
At long last, the pair cross the threshold, Michael watching Jeremy’s eyes ghost across the open rooms, lingering on the game consoles connected to the TV and the open door to Michael’s bedroom. On second thought, maybe Michael should have cleaned some earlier. His room looks like how Jeremy most likely feels and Michael bites back the instinctual apology.  
  
Michael gestures to his room, smiling gently. “Take the bed. The couch can’t be comfortable at all.”  
  
Jeremy nods his thanks, sliding into the room and Michael slips into the doorway, watching Jeremy crawl onto the bed and curl up, asleep before Michael can make a joke about bedbugs or something.  
  
Swallowing the domestic air of it, Michael shuts the door quietly, padding into the kitchen and finding some food.  
  
Settling down at the wood table, a piece of turkey rolled in his fist, Michael scrolls through his phone, trying to keep his thoughts off of the boy sleeping in the room directly beside him. In truth, Michael is just proud of himself and the way he presented the idea. Kudos, Mikey.  
  
Of course, there will be the whole getting-to-the-bottom-of-why-Jeremy-is-losing-sleep thing, but he decides to ask later, when the boy is less exhausted. He knows he should keep his distance, mind his own business at mere lack of sleep, but the day Michael ignores someone who might need help is the day Satan has tea with the Queen of England. Or Mondays, because those suck and Michael is never met with situations that will use his abilities. He digresses.  
  
All thoughts aside, Michael sits, eventually setting his computer up and typing there, letting Jeremy sleep.  
  
….  
  
A few hours of comfortable typing noises later, when the sun begins to lazily drift below the horizon, casting glowing rays into the living room, the front door slams open, the walls shuddering with the force. Michael looks up, frantically shushing a very excited Rich.  
  
“What are you on, dude? Be civil for once, you nard” Michael whisper-shouts. Rich pauses at the name, mouthing it to himself in confusion before shrugging it off. He bounces further into the apartment, rubbing his hands together.  
  
“Guess who got a daaaaaate,” he sings, pushing his hips to the sound of music that most definitely isn’t there.  
  
Deciding to humor Rich, Michael leans his chin on his fist. “Who?”  
  
“Me!” His voice is filled with glee as he throws his hands in the air. Michael immediately shushes him again, pointing to the closed door of his bedroom.  
  
“There is a sleep-deprived child in there trying to regenerate. Have some respect,” he scolds, his eyes narrowed. Rich blinks. Again.  
  
“There’s a-What? No, we’ll get to that later.” His energy is palpable as he pulls out the chair across from Michael, who picks at the ‘Rise Above Racism’ patch sitting just above his heart. Rich looks down at his phone, eagerly typing something. He switches the phone around to show Michael the picture of Jeremy and the other guy from his Instagram profile, the one where they sit with console controllers. “Remember him?”  
  
Michael slowly nods. Rich grins, continuing on with his story. “So, when we first saw the photo, I was like ‘wow, he’s pretty hot’.” Rich imitates himself, making his voice deeper than it naturally is. “I went to his profile and it turns out his name is Jake. Severely white name, amiright?” He talks, making large gestures with his hands. “So, I was looking through his page and did some commenting and HE slid into my DM’s like a child on an oily slide like ‘yo wassup’. I don’t know if he was desperate for a friend or was just bored. Either way, yes.”  
  
Michael continues nodding, trying to pick out any meaning in Rich’s jumbled mess of words.  
  
“We started talking and he’s so great. His parents are whack, and all, but so are mine so I guess we had something to bond over. Anyway, keep in mind we’ve been talking for about a week, he asks if I want to do something with him. So, I freak out and he just thinks it the most adorable thing ever. Did I mention he’s gay? I probably should have…”  
  
Michael laughs, noting the experience as something for the books, as Rich was almost never this flustered. This Jake dude must be pretty great.  
  
“So, in short, we’re meeting at that yogurt place by your little café in thirty minutes. The one with the naked dancer out front?” At Michael’s nod, he leaps up from the table, shoving the chair in and collecting his jacket. “I kinda just came home to tell you,” he admits, before sticking his thumb behind him to Michael’s room. “We are discussing this later, though. Not tonight. I don’t think I’ll be home tonight,” he adds, winking suggestively as Michael pretends to gag.  
  
“There’s the door. Use it.”  
  
…..  
  
Before Michael knows it, nine o’clock rolls around and he figures he should probably wake Jeremy. He rises from his position, cringing at his numb limbs. He clambers to his room, pushing the door open gently.  
“Jeremy,” he coos, “Jeremy, you need you need to wake uuuuuup.” Michael presses on his shoulder, the boy’s eyelids fluttering as he stirs. His blue eyes are red-rimmed from sleep and they fall on Michael, narrowing in confusion. “Have a nice nap?”  
  
“Yeah,” Jeremy mumbles, propping himself on an elbow. “Why’d you close the window?”  
  
“I didn’t?” Michael lifts an eyebrow at the exposed window, showing the night sky.  
  
“What do you- Michael! Why didn’t you wake me up? Oh, god, what time is it?” Jeremy throws himself upwards, rushing to the window in a panic.  
  
“9:15?”  
  
Jeremy shouts a curse, whirling. “I really have to get home.” Michael holds his hands up, backing up in shock.  
  
“I’ll drive you.”  
  
….  
  
The car ride is slightly uncomfortable, as Jeremy won’t stop fidgeting with anything and everything, flipping his wrist over to look at his watch every 15 seconds, speaking up only to give Michael a direction to turn in.  
“Right here is good,” he says in a casual tone that sounds a bit forced. “I’ll walk the rest.”  
  
“Dude, I really don’t mind driving up a little bit more-,”  
  
“No, it’s quite alright. Thank you. So much.”  
  
With that, he’s gone, out of the door, slamming it and jogging down the road a bit, turning and walking towards the apartment complex that’s at the edge of the street. He disappears behind the trees and Michael blinks in the silence he left in his wake. “So, that just happened,” he mutters to the empty car, his eyes rolling to the seat where Jeremy just sat not a minute ago with his blue cardigan in it.  
  
“Ugh,” he groans, scooping it up. “Gotta be a good person, I guess.” He shuts the PT Cruiser off, his converse connecting with concrete as he begins to trace Jeremy’s steps. Right, now to find which of these thirty rooms are his. Easy peasy, Mell.  
  
He begins walking by the rooms, hoping he didn’t look too much like a stalker as he presses a hand against every doorknob, checking the heat. That’s a good idea, right?  
  
Coming to the end of the first floor, he passes a room with voices emitting from the thin walls. Not wanting to pry, Michael continues walking, trying to ignore the bickering.  
  
But the voices beckon him and he turns, slowly edging back to the door. Upon further inspection, the voices aren’t just bickering. And what he hears makes his blood run cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this chapter was mostly plot. Gotta build up for the next one.   
> Nard, the insult that Michael calls Rich, isn't anything special. Long story and a made up word.   
> I've been typing furiously because, apparently, you have to get sleep to be a functioning human being, so whoops.   
> Typos are inevitable, as I'm seeing double and only read this over once.   
> Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It goes down, ya'll

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Pretty long description/actions of an abusive relationship. Please stay safe.

“Where were you,” a voice that sounds oddly like Keanu Reeves says in a killing calm. Michael furrows his eyebrows, straining to hear.  
  
A stone sinks into Michael’s stomach as Jeremy’s fear-laced voice responds quickly. “Eric, I’m sorry. I just lost track of time and-,”  
  
“That doesn’t answer my question, does it, Jeremy, dearest?” The voice spits the last word like a poison. Silence. Silence, and then sniffling sounds. “Where were you?”  
  
“C-Christine,” Jeremy whimpers, his voice breaking. Michael force himself to stay planted, to bear through this torture.  
  
The voice chuckles, so low that Michael almost can’t hear it. “You can’t lie to me, Jeremy. You’re awful at it.” His voice goes impossibly cold, sending a shiver down Michael’s spine. “So, where were you?” The words are said through gritted teeth. The unspoken threat is clear.  
  
The only thing Michael can hear next is a sharp gasp from Jeremy as weight is thrown against the wall next to the door.  
  
“You were with him, weren’t you?” The voice sneers. “What did I tell you, Jeremy? Because I sure know, but you seem to have forgotten.”  
  
“S-Stay away from M-M-Michael,” Jeremy chokes out, gasping. Michael isn’t sure if he’s repeating the voices order, or giving an order himself.  
  
The voice seems to take it as the former, as he raises his voice to an impossible decibel. “Then why didn’t you!?” The sickening sound of skin on skin and a seething noise from Jeremy. Michael feels bile rising into his throat, bending down to search for a spare key or something, running his fingers under the welcome mat.  
  
Jeremy. Michael’s friend, the one that he might just lo…have feelings for. He’s been facing this for as long as Michael has known him, more than likely even longer, and Michael didn’t even notice. He was so caught up in his own world that he didn’t notice his own friend was suffering. Tears prickle in his eyes as he shakes away those negative thoughts. Self-hatred won’t help Jeremy right now.  
  
Michael checks every place he would hide a key, still listening in horror to the voices.  
  
“You think your little friend actually cares about you? You’re so stupid Jeremy.” Michael flinches, backing away with helplessness blooming in his chest. “You’re nothing,” the voice spits. “The friends you actually have would leave you in a heartbeat if it weren’t for me.”  
  
Michael eyes the doorknob, wondering if the abuser would be so careless as to keep the door unlocked?  
  
“Repeat after me, Jeremy. Repeat the truth. Everything about you is so terrible.”  
  
Under the sinister voice, Michael can hear Jeremy’s small mirror, crushing his heart in two.  
  
“Good,” the voice says, sarcasm tinging his tone. “Everything about you makes me want to die.”  
  
Michael sees red, shouldering the door open before Jeremy can finish the sentence. Apparently, this Eric dude wasn’t smart enough to lock the door. Lucky Michael.  
  
He examines the horrid scene, a wet-faced Jeremy shaking against the wall, a man before him holding his throat with one hand, his wrist in the other one. The hand on his wrist has a white knuckled grip, small tendrils of blood beginning to leak from where his nails dig in.  
  
The man turns, missing Jeremy frantically shake his head and mouth the word ‘no’. Michael balls his fists, trying to look somewhat threatening. Eric, wavy hair mussed up, bright blue eyes gleaming with rage, gives Michael a twisted smile.  
  
“You must be Michael. Shame I had to meet you on these circumstances. Jeremy, dear, why don’t you introduce us?” Jeremy just struggles against the hands holding him in place. At the lack of an answer, Eric snarls, tightening his hold on Jeremy’s neck, making the boy gasp dryly.  
  
“Stop!” Michael roars, stalking towards the two and wrenching Eric’s hands away. He holds him by the wrists, grip tight and unyielding. “Lay another finger on him and you’ll be detained before you can breathe,” he whispers, leaning his head down and spitting on Eric’s skin before letting go.  
  
Michael turns, locking eyes with Jeremy, who still has tears in his eyes. He holds his hand out, mouthing the word ‘please’ so that only Jeremy can see. Said boy hesitates, eyeing the had before reluctantly taking it, letting Michael pull him out of the way of Eric.  
  
Michael begins to lead Jeremy to the door before turning around, not knowing what to do with his rage other than say, “My friend was a high school bully. He isn’t very proud of it, but he remembers every pressure point that will have you writhing on the ground in a second. Try to follow us or contact Jeremy ever again…,” He trails off, the obvious threat residing in Michael’s eyes as his lips curl upwards.  
  
Jeremy’s hand tightens around Michael’s and is gone. Jeremy backs out of the apartment, just like Michael motioned for him to do. “Jeremy, do you really think he’ll stay? He’ll leave you. Everyone will leave you.”  
  
Michael whirls around, lifting an annoyed eyebrow. “You just love to hear yourself talk, don’t you?” Eric just grins.  
  
“Good,” Eric, nods, ignoring the question. “Take him off my hands. He’s useless. He’s just a burden. A waste of space.” He hurls each word out and Michael can hear a slight sniffle from behind him.  
  
Enough.  
  
Eric makes a barking shout as Michael’s fist collides with his jaw, reeling backwards. Michael stands, panting slightly, pride filling in his chest. Eric just narrows his eyes. “Get out of my house,” he growls.  
  
“Gladly.”  
  
……………..  
  
The door slams, echoing through the hall. Michael takes a shuddering breath the calm himself before slowly turning to Jeremy, who stands unblinkingly, gazing down the hall. His face is still wet and he seems to be trying to keep his breath even. Michael can relate.  
  
He silently moves to press his hand against Jeremy’s shoulder and Jeremy moves his eyes to meet Michael’s. He seems to have a guilty look, bracing himself for something.  
  
“How long,” Michael whispers, his voice breaking as tears threaten to spill once again.  
  
Jeremy stays silent.  
  
………….  
  
The car ride is quiet for the first five minutes until Jeremy seems to realize where he’s going.  
  
“We’re going to your house?”  
  
Michael nods, glancing into the rearview mirror and turning right.  
  
“You don’t have to keep me there. I can find somewhere else. I’m sure Christine will-,”  
  
“Jeremy, I won’t make you do anything. Ever. But, it would make me feel a lot better if you would stay with me and I can…help you. However that may be.” He comes to a stop, turning his head to Jeremy, who tugs at his cardigan.  
  
“Three months.”  
  
“Huh?”  
“That…has been going on for three months. We’ve been together for almost nine. At the beginning, everything was great. He was great. Then, he started getting drunk more often after I moved in with him and then he didn’t need to be drunk to beat me, and-,” Jeremy begins to get worked up, the breathing speeding up and his throat closes up.  
  
Michael nods, bringing his hand to rest at Jeremy’s knee, who, surprisingly, doesn’t flinch away. Michael makes quiet shushing noise, assuring him that it’s okay and that he won’t ever be hurt again. The words might be a lie, but the fact that Michael will try his hardest to make it truth isn’t in any way a lie.  
  
Eventually, they make it back to Michael’s apartment, silently crossing through the door just like they had done earlier that day.  
  
“Are you hungry?” Michael asks, making his way to the kitchen. Jeremy tries to voice that he isn’t, but his stomach says otherwise, letting out a low rumble. “I’ll take that as a yes,” Michael jokes, trying to make Jeremy as comfortable as possible. “What do you want? I have…Wow. I really don’t have a lot,” Michael observes upon opening the fridge. He reaches in, moving things aside until his fingers close around a box. “Chinese food from two days ago?” He says in offering.  
  
“Sounds good to me,” Jeremy says, a bit of his old self coming out. Michael forks the noodles onto a plate and shoves it into the microwave, waiting patiently.  
  
As they eat, Michael and Jeremy try to keep the conversation off of the night’s occurrences, until the inevitable comes up.  
  
“So, you’re gonna be sleeping in rich’s room, if you’re okay with that,” Michael says, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck.  
  
“Rich?” Jeremy asks, cocking his head.  
  
“My friend. He won’t be home tonight, though, don’t worry.”  
  
Jeremy shakes his head, holding his hands up. “It’s really okay. I can take the couch. Heck, I’m fine with the floor. Wouldn’t be the first time,” he says jokingly, but Michael freezes.  
  
“Y-You don’t mean camping, do you?” A sinking feeling cripples Michael.  
  
“I shouldn’t have said that,” Jeremy mutters to himself, squeezing his arm. “No. I don’t.”  
  
Michael needs to hear it. He needs to hear an affirmative. “Did he make you sleep on the floor?”  
  
Jeremy is silent for a few heartbeats before sighing. “Only on nights when stuff like this happened.”  
  
“Which was?”  
  
“Most nights,” Jeremy says, his voice impossibly small.  
  
……………  
  
Michael climbs into bed, not feeling tired at all. Jeremy had taken a shower, still tenderly nursing a hand-shaped red mark on his cheek. He claimed he was tired, which Michael whole-heartedly believed, so he made no argument.  
  
The covers are hot and suffocating as Michael tries and fails to just go to sleep. The voices from earlier haunt his mind, the vision of Eric with his hand around Jeremy’s neck coming when he closes his eyes. Sighing in defeat, looking at the time, he sits up, his hair slightly sweaty.  
  
As he cracks his knuckles, he hears something from the room opposite his, a choked sobbing noise. Steeling himself, Michael stands, slowly creeping out of his room and down the hall to where Jeremy resides, knocking on the door gently.  
  
Michael hears some sniffles and a tiny “Come in,” and he opens the door, taking in Jeremy laying on his side under the blankets, tears wetting the sheets under him. His eyes are glassy and red in the moonlight. Michael swallows his pain as he walks in, kneeling beside the bed to be eye-to-eye with Jeremy., trying to ignore Rich's mess and rolled up "'Why shooteth heroine when you can shooteth Jesus' Candyman 17:38" poster that he got three months ago.  
  
“Hey,” Michael whispers, wanting in any way to just help.  
  
“H-Hi.”  
  
“You wanna tell me what you’re thinking about?” Michael tries to keep his voice as gentle as he can to calm Jeremy, who swallows harshly and answers honestly in a bitter voice.  
  
“About how he’s right. I’m a burden. A waste of space.” The sobs come anew and he buries his face in the sheets. As Jeremy cries, Michael takes his cold hand, folding it in his own.  
  
“Jeremy. Jeremy, look at me.” Michael’s tone is soft, but steady. Jeremy obeys, red-rimmed eyes meeting Michael’s.  
  
“You are not a burden. You never can be, Jeremy. A waste of space? Please. You are amazing on so many levels. People like Eric are wastes of space. You aren’t, Jeremy.” Jeremy looks slightly unconvinced and Michael tightens his grip on his hand.  
  
“You’re so strong, Jeremy. We’ll get through this. You’ll be okay. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, and that’s fine, but someday, you will be okay. You will be happy. God, Jeremy, you deserve to be happy. I swear it. I swear on my life, Jeremy, I could never leave you. Ever.”  
  
Jeremy stares intently into Michael’s pleading eyes. “Thank you,” he whispers at long last.  
  
Michael stands, gesturing to the bed and trying to make a hugging motion. “Can I?”  
  
“Yeah,” Jeremy whispers, scooting over to allow Michael some room. The minute he’s on the mattress, Jeremy’s arms are around his waist, his face digging into his chest, wetting the fabric a bit, but Michael couldn’t care less. All that matters to him right now is Jeremy, who’s breathing becomes heavier as the minutes stretch on, Jeremy, who is safe now and in Michaels arms as he protects him from his own mind…the mind the Eric infected.  
  
Of course, they will have to see what Jeremy wants to be done with Eric as of now, but that can wait. It can all wait. So, it will.  
  
The last thing Michael hears before the darkness overcomes him is Jeremy’s sigh of contempt in his sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAHHHHHHHH HERE IT IS  
> the rest of the Squip Squad is coming in next chapter, but i thought that this one should be centered on   
> just Michael and Jeremy sooooo....yeah.  
> A comment is food to the soul.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rich had that date and Christine is kinda angry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just....

Michael stirs, furrowing his eyebrows as the sun shines through the window and hits his eyelids. His skin is damp with sweat, as they decided to hug it out during the early days of June.  
  
In the night, Jeremy had turned over in his sleep, his bony spine pressing against Michael’s chest. The feeling of his body causes Michael’s heart to clench. If only they were able to do this under different circumstances.  
  
Michael isn’t sure how long he lays there, staring at the light brown blur that is Jeremy’s hair-he had forgotten his glasses in his room-, but what fully awakens every sense is the sound of the door opening and a not-so-manly squeal. He cringes into the pillow, sighing at the prospect of getting up. Slowly, as to not wake Jeremy up, Michael slides out of the bed, turning to face Rich, who stands frozen in the doorway. He begins to say something, but Michael presses his index finger to his own lips, then points down the hall to the guest bedroom.  
  
Rich gets the idea and quickly backs out of his room, leaving Michael with Jeremy. Michael looks back to said person, who still lays curled up on his side. His eyes are closed, long eyelashes dusting the tiny freckles on his cheeks. Pretty.  
  
Michael meets Rich in the guest room, who sits on the bed swinging his legs with a smirk. “Get it, bro,” he quips and Michael shakes his head, pulling the swivel chair up to sit in.  
  
“No, Rich, you-,”  
  
“Mikey, I come home from my date to find you spooning Jeremy Heere, the dude that you’ve been pining after for weeks, in my bedroom? Odd place to pick, but who am I to judge, really?” He smiles once more. “How is that a ‘no’?”  
  
Michael begins to tell Rich the gist of what happened, avoiding most of what was said to Jeremy. It felt wrong to share that information with someone else, even if that someone is Rich.  
  
Rich deflates as Michael covers the events from the previous night, the light in his eyes dimming, before brightening as Michael gets closer to the end. “Wait, man, you threatened him using me?” Michael nods, shifting in the leather chair. “I’m honored.”  
  
Michael continues, not exactly revealing the specifics of what happened before he went to sleep, the moments too intimate to be shared, but that’s okay. As he finishes, Michael nods to Rich, gesturing for him to say something.  
  
Rich nods solemnly, tracing patterns on his fingers. “I had my suspicions.”  
  
The silence stretches on. It isn’t necessarily awkward or empty in the slightest, more like full of thought, but it’s there and it’s suffocating and Michael ends it.  
  
“So, how was your date,” he inquires, hoping to lighten the mood a bit. His attempts prove to be successful as Rich smiles brightly.  
  
_Rich takes a shuddering breath, worrying on his lip as he rounds the corner. Hundreds of Millions of questions and second thoughts shove their way to the front of his brain. What if Jake is too good for Rich? Well, obviously, he is, but still. What if he made fun of his height or the streak he got in his hair when Michael got that tattoo? What if he stood him up? Oh, god, he probably did. Is it too late to turn around? ___  
  
_No, Rich tries to insist to the tiny voices cluttering his head. He gets a bit closer to the store, examining the front of the establishment, where Jake promised he would be. As he walks, he can’t help but bark out a laugh at the scene, no matter the anger that sparked in his stomach. ___  
  
_Jake leans against the wall, looking like a god, but what else is new, trying his best not to look directly at the naked dancer. Said dancer seems to have made it his mission for Jake to watch him, as he starts to creep closer, swinging himself to the beat of the nonexistent music. Jake’s face is the vision of discomfort as he averts his eyes, sliding away from the dancer. If it were any other place, people would have complained, but it’s New Jersey. Everyone’s seen worse. ___  
  
_Rich gives the dancer a menacing glare and grabs’s Jake’s wrist, hauling him inside, the air conditioning merciful in the heat of summer. Jake lets out a breathy laugh _.__  
  
_“Hi,” he says with a lopsided grin, before shooting his eyes to the dancer just outside the glass, who looks mighty disappointed. ___  
  
_“Hey,” Rich replies, before following his eyes. “Ah, you’ve never been his victim, I take it?” Jake’s brilliant smile glistens in the artificial light as he shakes his head. ___  
  
_“I can’t say I have,” Jake says, pulling out a fake southern accent for some unknown reason. Rich’s stomach flutters at the sound, a stupid blush rising in his cheeks. Jake examines the menu and the kind looking woman behind the counter. Her skin is a rich brown, reminding Rich of mahogany. In the back of his head, Rich remembers why he bothered calling himself bi. ___  
  
_“May I suggest taking it to go?” Jake offers, turning his beautiful eyes to the shorter of the two. Rich just nods with a contempt smile. ___  
  
“Where’d you go?” Michael asks with excitement, spinning the swivel chair with a wide grin, the need of quiet slightly forgotten and his bro senses taking over.  
  
“Shut up and I might tell you.”  
  
_The two had mastered the dancer, who tried to make his advances, by diverting their eyes and looking deep in conversation. It seemed to work, though the dancer slumped his shoulders, his beat less jaunty. Poor dude. ___  
  
_“I have another proposal,” Jake says with a hint of mischief. Rich stuffs a spoonful of strawberry yogurt into his mouth to keep from letting out some inhuman noise and nods to Jake. ___  
  
_“Wha’evah you ‘ay,” he says around the substance, swallowing quickly at Jake’s laugh. Rich feels the butterflies in his chest swarm up the back of his throat as he hears the noise, and though every possible scenario races through his mind, nothing can prepare Rich for what Jake would say. ___  
  
_“How do you feel about reading?” Jake seems nervous, fingers clenching the paper cup with a tight grip. ___  
  
_“Huh?” Rich stops walking, trying to see where Jake’s question is going, before quickly collecting himself and those god-awful nerves and catches up with Jake. “I mean…Explain.” ___  
  
_“Well, I mean, it’s really stupid. I’m sorry. Delete the last minute of our encounter.” ___  
  
_Rich decides to push it, shaking his head and dodging a cyclist with a muttered curse. “Can I, maybe, be the judge of that?” ___  
  
_Jake huffs a laugh, the hint of red creeping up his neck as he explains. “My friends, Brooke and Chloe…When they got together in junior year, Chloe was failing her English class. She had a low reading level and so Brooke decided that for their occasional dates, they would pick out a book to read together to help Chloe and…I’m sorry. Like I said, it was a stupid idea.” ___  
  
_“No, dude,” Rich says quietly, disposing of his empty cup and plastic spoon in a trashcan just outside of a closed bar. “I think it’s a pretty good idea.” ___  
  
“Rich? Reading?” Michael snorts. “Unlikely story.”  
  
“I thought the same thing!” Rich says quickly, his lisp a bit more prominent. He presses his lips together, digging the backs of his legs into the edge of the bed. “It’s really cheesy, but, like, I didn’t care about the fact I haven’t picked up a book in years. He seemed really…Hopeful? I wasn’t gonna walk over that.”  
  
Michael sits silently as Rich glances down, blushing at his own words. Finally, Michael speaks up. “Dude, I’m shipping it. So hard.”  
  
“Shut up,” Rich chuckles, leaning forward to shove Michael’s chair backward. “Long story short, we’re meeting up Friday for Mexican, then next Saturday to talk about the book.” He reaches over and grasps it, pulling it over. The cover is pure black, white writing printed on top saying “Beep Beep the Sheep”. How many drugs was this author on? Michael isn’t sure if the answer is too many or not enough.  
  
Michael nods, propping his legs on top of the mattress, opening his mouth to comment, before jumping as a knock sounds throughout the room.  
  
“M-Michael? I didn’t wanna intrude, but you were gone and…,” Jeremy’s voice trails off and Rich gives a somber smile. He nods to the door, shaking Michael from a daze and said boy quickly opens the door for Jeremy.  
  
“No, you’re fine Jer. Just talking. This is Rich,” Michael says, gesturing to the shorty on the bed. Rich holds up a long-dead peace sign and pushes his hair from his face.  
  
“Sup.”  
  
Jeremy gives a quick little wave. His skin is a bit more flushed than usual and Michael comes to the conclusion that Jeremy’s bedhead needs to be worshipped. The boy’s hair is tossed this way and that, framing his face and those sleep-clouded eyes and god, what Michael wouldn’t do to be able to wake up to that for the rest of his life.  
  
Michael’s eyes roam downwards, taking in his own black shirt on Jeremy’s body, along with plaid sweatpants.  
  
Michael deems himself duly screwed.  
  
“Hi.” Jeremy’s voice brings him back to the present, trying desperately to ignore the pounding in his chest at that word ‘forever’ that pushes itself relentlessly to his thoughts.  
  
Dear, God.  
  
Silence seeps back into the room and it seems as though none of them enjoys it, but what can Michael say? ‘Nice to see you after having an intense heart to heart last night. Are we gonna talk about that? By the way, I might have more-than-like-like feelings for you.’  
  
And it’s not like Rich can go out and say, ‘Hi! Nice to meet you, the person that my best friend saved from an abuser…and also might have more-than-like-like feeling for.’ None of the fillers fit in any way, shape, or form.  
  
Michael thanks whatever deity is up there as he hears Jeremy’s rather loud stomach growl. “I take it you’re hungry?”  
  
Jeremy nods sheepishly, a weak smile on his face. Rich laughs heartily and stands, the top of his head reaching to about Jeremy’s nose as he saunters out of the guest room and into the kitchen. “Not to fear, Heere. We have-,”  
  
“Nothing,” Michael cuts him off, still in his place beside the door. “We have nothing.”  
  
Rich’s slightly haughty smile falls and Michael just shrugs as Rich turns to face them. “Nevermind, then.”  
  
Jeremy busies himself by picking at the hem of Michael’s shirt, oblivious to Michael inwardly dying.  
  
“I mean, we can go get something. I’ll do some shopping later,” Rich suggests, taking to leaning against the doorway.  
  
The three agree on the idea and Jeremy excuses himself to grab his phone off the charger in the kitchen. As he props his elbows on the granite countertops, he waits for his screen to light up, while Rich abandons the two to change clothes.  
Michael watches from the hallway as Jeremy gnaws on his lip eyes studying his device. The minute it loads, text after text floods the screen and Jeremy’s face falls.  
  
Panic surges through Michael as the idea of Eric wanting the last word fills his head. “What is it?” He says, fearing the words that come might come out of Jeremy’s mouth. Jeremy sighs, tipping his head back with closed eyes.  
  
He grumbles lowly, turning and sitting at the table. Michael rushes to sit with him, fear pounding in his chest.  
  
“It’s nothing,” Jeremy says. “I was supposed to meet my friends for breakfast and with…everything, I forgot. I’ll let them know I’m okay. They must be worried sick.” He chuckles as Michael feels the pressure he didn’t know was there lift off of his shoulders.  
  
Jeremy’s small smile disappears, though, as it looks like he’s deep in thought. “They might have tried to contact Eric. Oh, god, Michael, what if he told them something like-,” Jeremy’s breathing is labored as he clenches and unclenches his fists. He looks up, his beautiful eyes full of fear. “Michael.” His voice breaks slightly and Michael quickly reaches across the table, grasping the boy’s pale, slender, clammy hand and squeezing tight, not caring about how it looked.  
  
“Jere, it’s gonna be okay. We’ll invite them to lunch in twenty minutes. Tell them to meet at that Italian sandwich shop. We’ll get everything cleared up, okay?” Michael tries to put emphasis on every ‘we’, making it clear to his friend that he wouldn’t face this task alone, or anything, for that matter.  
  
Michael stares at Jeremy head on, forcing every bit of genuine acceptance and…dare he say…love into his eyes as Jeremy takes his time to calm himself, muttering a thank you before tapping out a text message.  
  
……  
  
Approximately twenty-eight minutes later, after dragging Rich out of the bathroom (because that boy can primp for hours on end), Jeremy, Rich, and Michael are stepping out of the PT Cruiser in the only public parking spot there was that didn’t have a meter.  
  
As they approach the small shop, silhouettes of young adults seated around a large table along with three empty seats for Jeremy and his two mysterious guests get clearer. Jeremy takes a few shuddering breaths, his steps getting a bit smaller as he stalls. Michael turns once Jeremy reaches a full stop, giving him supportive smile and wrapping his hand around Jeremy’s wrist.  
  
When Michael was dealing with frequent panic attacks, Rich would do the same. It was supposed to help ground the person or something. Michael was grateful then, and he hoped that Jeremy would be now.  
  
Michael brushes his thumb along the skin, aware of the fingerprint shaped bruises just a few centimeters up from his fingers. “You got this,” he mouths and Jeremy nods, though his features still display hesitation.  
  
Finally, he takes a deep breath and twists his hand, entwining his fingers with Michael’s. Michael’s eyes widen just a bit in shock, but Jeremy ignores this as he stares at the door and says another statement of gratitude.  
  
They step in.  
Michael observes the fake vineyard wallpaper and otherwise empty tables, save for the one near the door. He takes in every person and hears Rich gasp lightly at seeing someone. “Jake!” Rich says, excitement filling his features. The person Rich addressed, Jake, otherwise known as the dude from Jeremy’s Instagram, stands smiling and doing the bro-hug that lasted a few seconds longer than regular bro-ness.  
  
Michael sweeps the group once more, watching a blonde girl in a yellow tank top scroll her phone while another, taller girl with brownish locks and a leather jacket the Michael highly appreciates reads over her shoulder. They seem to be comfortable with each other’s presence. Across from them, a girl in a purple cat hoodie and dark brown ponytail talks animatedly to a smaller Asian girl, who nods excitedly along with her.  
  
These are the friends that Jeremy held so high. Michael smiles to himself at that thought alone, wondering if he can even hope to be good enough for them.  
  
The talking comes to a hush when everyone finally notices their presence, though. Rich and Jake had taken to quietly talking, Rich staring at the boy with a smitten gaze, but otherwise, all eyes are on Michael and Jeremy as the latter, anxiously claws at his arm. The Asian girl with short, black hair stands, eyes wide, and storms over. She radiated anger and her eyes were burning holes into Jeremy.  
  
“Where were you?” She insists. We were worried sick about you, and then, when we called Eric, he just hung up!”  
  
Jeremy just presses his lips together, a guilty look in his eyes.  
  
“Didn’t you get our voicemails?”  
  
Michael feels a surge of anger at the girl’s irrationality. Come on. “Yeah, we did.” There’s that word again. “All 16 of them,” he spits. The girl seems to realize how uncomfortable she’s making Jeremy, because she clears her throat, steps back, and apologizes.  
  
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten so angry. You…It just scared us, Jere.” Jeremy nods at the girl.  
  
“Sorry for scaring you, Chris,” he mutters. The girl turns fully to Michael, giving him a blinding smile.  
  
“You must be Michael?” She asks, her eyes turning from the burning red to a light, welcoming warmth.  
  
“Yeah,” Michael says, slightly shocked by the quick change in mood. He notices the eyes of the two girls, as well as the one with the awesome cat jumper trained on him and this “Chris”.  
  
“Hi. I’m Christine. Jeremy’s told me a whole bunch about you,” Christine says, extending her hand and shaking Michael’s.  
  
“Oh, really?” Michael turns to Jeremy with a smirk before turning back to Christine. “As flattered as I am, do you mind if I talk to you real quick? Just for a minute?” Christine nods, hesitation creeping into her features.  
  
“Sure,” she says, sounding more like a question than anything. Michael knows nothing about Christine, setting aside what Jeremy told him, so he decides to go for the one thing they have in common. Jeremy.  
  
He gives said boy a reassuring look and leads Christine a few feet away from the table of people who try their best to not listen in.  
  
He nips everything straight in the bud.  
  
“How long has Jeremy been that ‘clumsy’?” He asks, his face the painting of seriousness, his voice going bitter as he spits the last word with air quotes.  
  
Christine’s face falls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the wait. I've had 0 motivation these past few days (Read: nearly 2 weeks whoops)   
> just....idek.  
> Leave some love and such  
> Thanks and au revior


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Squip Squad. Basically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I'm trying to post once a week. (Hopefully more)

“How long has Jeremy been that ‘clumsy’?”  
  
Christine’s face falls.  
  
The girl narrows her eyes, analyzing the question from all angles. Her shining walnut irises darting from Michael to Jeremy, who had taken his seat next to Rich. Christine finally swallows and raises her head, a small smile on her lips.  
  
“Jeremy has always been a bit clumsy. He fell off stage one time. Broke his toe.” Christine is avoiding something and even Michael, with his blind-as-a-bat self, can see. He pushes it so hard you could call him salt and pepper.  
  
“Christine, how long has he been buying band-aids in bulk?”  
  
Christine presses her lips together, her eyes full of something that Michael can’t pinpoint as she draws her eyebrows together, her voice unsure. “What are you getting at?” Christine seems to be trying to keep her voice down, stealing occasional glances at her friends.  
  
Michael just holds up a digit, slipping his phone out of his pocket. A few notifications pop up, all of which he ignores, logging into Instagram.  
  
He turns the screen to Christine, who leans in slightly to see the photo, the one that had originally sucked the hope out of Michael. Christine studies Jeremy’s lazy smile and Eric’s bright blue eyes, gleaming with what is—is it?—adoration.  
  
The small girl’s face goes slack as her eyes ghost the smiling pair. She gnaws on a glossed lip, looking back up at Michael. “What are-,” She gasps as her eyes widen going back to the picture. Christine’s jaw trembles slightly as she shakes her head. “No. No, that’s not…He said everything was okay,” she chokes out, her voice breaking a bit.  
  
Michael watches in silence, waiting for the girl to speak some more. His eyes crinkle at the edges, slightly cringing at the fact that Jeremy couldn’t tell Christine himself.  
  
Christine blinks a few times, eyes still trained on the picture of Jeremy and his now-ex. Her head remains shaking, as if trying to make the situation fake. A figment of everyone’s imagination, where Jeremy has been happy and cared for by everyone, not having to worry about bringing in any dark realities.  
  
“Of course, I noticed. I’ve known him for twelve years. How could I not notice that my closest friend had five too many bandages? I pestered and prodded, but he would always say he was just clumsy, which, yeah, I know, but usually he isn’t-,” Christine sighs around tears, her lips curling upwards in an almost hysterical smile. “God, I’m such an idiot.”  
  
“No, Christine, you aren’t an idiot. Right now, though, what we have to do is help Jeremy, okay? Make sure Eric doesn’t try anything, but more importantly let him know he’s loved. There are some dark things that Eric planted in his head, little gnawing bugs, and he’s not okay. We have to be there for him, and I hate that we had to meet on these terms, but I should hope that we can work as a team, all of us.”  
  
Christine reaches forward, grasping both on Michael’s now empty hands in a clammy embrace as she nods, sniffing a bit. “Thank you for doing what none of us did, Michael. I know we don’t know each other, but I hear Jeremy sing your praises.” She cracks a small smile at this and Michael can’t help but join. “I can’t think of anyone better to walk him through this.”  
  
With that, she turns around, leaving a warm-faced Michael. Christine walks back to the table, placing one of her hands upon Jeremy’s lean shoulders, and presses her lips together when Jeremy looks up at her. From where he is, Michael can see Jeremy’s tense features, like he’s waiting for anger of some kind.  
  
Jeremy stands, turning to face Christine wholly and a hush falls across the table as Christine goes up on tiptoes and wraps her arms around Jeremy’s neck, pulling him close and resting her chin on his shoulder. The embrace holds such intimacy that Michael wonders for a split second if they could be more than friends, but he extinguishes the idea quickly as he sees the tear tracks tracing the girl’s cheeks.  
  
Christine’s lips form words that only Jeremy can hear as the boy nods slightly, saying something back and then they’re clinging to each other, Jeremy’s slender fingers gripping the jean jacket that adorns Christine’s body. Their cheeks are smooshed together and the rest of the group watches silently, all but Rich an Michael sporting confused looks.  
  
Jake turns to Rich, noticing his somber look, but shakes his head, eyes travelling back to the pair. The next minute is spent with Jeremy and Christine parting and mumbling some things to each other, before Christine takes her seat beside jumper girl and takes a sip of her dark colored drink, wiping remnants of tears from under her eyes.  
  
Much to Michael’s surprise, Jeremy turns to him with an expectant look and raised eyebrows, extending his shaking hand. Trying not to focus on the points of contact that make Michael wish he could do this more often, he grips Jeremy’s hand, squeezing tight before taking a seat next to Rich.  
  
They begin to explain.  
  
……  
  
It takes a bit less than five minutes for Jeremy to tell his story, saying things that even Michael hadn’t known, like the fact that on Jeremy’s birthday, Eric took his anger out on him for wanting to go to dinner with Eric and his friends instead of having alone time.  
  
In these few minutes, Jeremy has to stop a few times, breathing in and out while everyone watches in understanding. Michael would wait for permission to touch him, to comfort him, to grip his hand or put grasp his knee under the table.  
  
By the end of the story, the man behind the counter had shuffled into the kitchen, finding something ultimately more interesting. The group of friends at the table, though, sit in silence, each processing the information being thrown at them, each letting the guilt of not noticing wash over them in waves. At long last, Jake speaks up with a serious tone.  
  
“Jere?” Said boy hums in response, blue eyes turning to his friend. “If this prick ever shows his face again, I swear to god he’ll be sorry for ever laying a hand on you.”  
  
And everyone agrees.  
  
Each person offers their apologies, though Jeremy swiftly deflects them. The girls Michael learned were named Brooke and Chloe both had tears prickling in their eyes as they each grabbed Jeremy’s hands, sweaty in his whirlwind of nerves and wretched memories that he shouldn’t have to resurface, telling him they loved him and that anyone who messes with him is banned from a majority of the major department stores and banks alike—Chloe said something about her dad knowing some people.  
  
Jenna Rolan was already typing furiously, searching up blackmail on Eric and Christine finshes it off with the anger from earlier. “To hell with him. You’re amazing, Jeremy.”  
  
Nobody disagrees.  
  
…  
  
The lunch continues, each person recounting their activities over the past few days with laughs and light-hearted teasing. Jeremy had voiced that he didn’t want their time together to be filled with rigid pity, and the group wouldn’t deny him that request.  
  
At first, as the mood shifted to something else, Michael felt the edges of discomfort climb up his throat. These people seem nice, he reasons with himself, and they include him in all of their conversations, asking his opinion and debating political ordeals with unapologetic opinions, but Michael is still uneasy. He’s never been the best at social situations, unlike Rich, who can chat up anyone anywhere. Michael isn’t a stranger to dark, annoying thoughts that cluster his head, but in the years past, he learned to dull them. They still find ways to make grand appearances, though, and…  
  
And it feels terrible. He knows the voice isn’t right, and he knows it’s something to ignore, but he can’t help considering the taunts that the voices throw out. Michael can’t help but wonder if the guy two days ago only complimented him because he looked pathetic, or if Rich is only his friend because he pities his otherwise lonely nature.  
  
This…thing that eats at him slowly is a chronic pain down Michael’s throat, even with it’s somewhat rare, noticeable occurrence. So, it’s shocking to Michael that it’s presence is short-lived.  
  
As they talk, Michael slowly relaxes his shoulder against Jeremy’s, his empty plate abandoned. He soon finds himself excitedly explaining the concept of his book, which is nearly done, to Christine, Jenna, and Brooke, pride swelling in his chest as they compliment the symbolism in his characters and creativity.  
  
On the other hand, Rich, Jeremy, Jake, and Chloe argue about the end of Titanic.  
  
“Jake, you’re cute, but if you say that ‘I’ll never let go, Jack’ is figurative, I’ll pour this water over your head.” Rich crosses his arms, pouting as Chloe halts picking at her polished nail.  
  
“Are you serious?” She deadpans, gesturing to the bowl before her. “Right in front of my salad?” Rich sticks his tongue out like the four-year-old that he is, pushing his fingers in his ears as Chloe continues. “It’s obviously figurative. Jack was already dead.”  
  
The conversations continue, comfort spreading over the group like a rolling tide. Michael finds himself nursing a cup full of Coke, begrudgingly noting the utter modern-ness of it when Brooke’s voice pierces the lull in conversation.  
  
“So, Jerry,” she says, her voice fond at the old nickname, “where will you be staying? I mean, assuming you aren’t gonna still-,” She’s cut off by Jenna’s elbow digging into her ribs.  
  
“Oh,” Jeremy starts, looking down with furrowed eyebrows. “I mean, I-I didn’t really think about th-,”  
  
“With me,” Michael says with confidence, before turning quickly to Jeremy, who stares at him with wide eyes. “I mean, unless you don’t want to. Of course, Rich and I would love for you to, but you most definitely don’t have to.” Michael inwardly curses himself at getting so flustered at the thought of Jeremy living with him. Really, what’s the constant presence of his crush (God, what is he? Ten?) sleeping in the same house in the grand scheme of things? To Michael, it’s more than acceptable.  
  
“I’d like that,” Jeremy mutters, his cheeks going pink with a blush. Satisfied silence stretches throughout the room, the only noise being the clang of dishes being washed from the back.  
  
Michael feels Jeremy go rigid beside him. “Would it be a bad time to mention that literally everything I own is still in that house?”  
  
……..  
  
The plan is called “Operation Retrieve Jeremy’s Stuff”. Or “Stick it to the Devil” depending on who you ask. The minute Jeremy brought it up, the group began to plot, devising a plan to get back everything that Jeremy left at Eric’s house.  
  
Eric is supposed to be at work until 5, which gives them a solid three hours to stuff everything in trash bags and haul them out to Michael’s car.  
  
Jeremy fishes the key out of his wallet and pushes it in the lock, freezing as he pales a bit. Michael is instantly rubbing his back, muttering, “Take your time, Jeremy. If you want, you can stay out here. We can get everything.”  
  
“I’m alright,” Jeremy replies, assuring the group as a whole rather than just Michael before twisting the key and shouldering the door open. “Let’s get to work.”  
  
………  
  
As it turns out, they only needed an hour and a half to grab Jeremy’s personal belongings and medicines and get them stored into the trunk of the PT Cruiser. The next thirty minutes is spent otherwise.  
  
“Guys,” Chloe call out from the doorway, a hand on her hip as she watches the rest of the group walk away from the house. “We aren’t leaving that fast, are we?” At her smirk, Rich smiles, turning to face the house wholly.  
  
“What are you thinking, Valentine?”  
  
Michael is slightly shocked to see Jeremy grin as Chloe holds up a single black Sharpie.  
  
…………  
  
“Mirror or wall?”  
  
“Mirror,” Jeremy answers, leaning into Michael. “He can paint over the wall, but he’ll have to work to get it off glass.”  
  
“Brilliant,” Michael smiles, watching as Jenna doodles a stick figure showing a particularly rude gesture before handing the marker off to Rich, who doodles a giant penis next to a paper clip of the same size. It takes Michael a second to get it, but when he does he barks out a laugh and high-fives the shorter boy.  
  
They finish off the artwork by writing “Sincerely,” followed by each of their signatures. Surprisingly, Christine is the first to sign. Once everyone but Jeremy puts down their John Hancock, they turn to him sporting supportive smiles. Jake passes him the Sharpie, nodding slightly despite Jeremy’s unsure expression.  
  
“You got it, dude.”  
  
A second goes by, Jeremy eying the tool, a small smile dawning on his face (one that totally! Does not! Make Michael! Want to! Kiss him!) as he grabs it.  
  
_Eat it, prick. -Jeremy Heere _  
__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY CRAP! I just noticed this has over 800 hits? Thank you all so much!!!  
> Also  
> Did I previously know how hard it is to write a chapter with so many characters? no.  
> Do i know now? Why, yes. Yes, i do.   
> "I'll never let go, Jack" is figurative and you can fight me on that.  
> Leave some love, etc, etc, etc


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael come to a *Realization*

Michael grunts, letting his body fall onto the hard floor. Ignoring the throbbing in his shoulder, he takes his sweet time getting up. He pushes his body off of the ground, wincing slightly and giving the open window a withering look. “Screw you,” he mumbles.  
  
Stalking towards the front door of the apartment, he pauses, turning his head and addressing an imaginary audience. “Hi. I’m Michael, and you might be wondering how I got into the situation,” he grumbles, twirling the key in his hand.  
  
“Shut up and let us in, dipwad,” Rich yells from the other side, banging impatiently on the door. For a second, Michael considers not opening the door, letting Rich stay outside in an act of glorious vengeance, but then, over the thumps, Michael can hear Jeremy’s small,  
  
“Please?”  
  
Fine. Whatever. It’s not like he changes his mind because of Jeremy, per se, but it’s totally like that.  
  
Letting the thin wood door swing open on slightly creaky hinges, Michael steps back as Rich saunters in, followed by Jeremy, who gives Michael a grateful smile.  
  
“Seriously, Rich. Why did I have to be the one to climb the flipping FIRE ESCAPE? You’re obviously smaller.”  
  
Rich just gives him a sly smirk. “Your point?”  
  
Rich stops in the kitchen, humming slightly as he leans on the counter. “You okay with the guest room, Jeremy?”  
  
Instead of answering, Jeremy steps into the house further, cradling his arms. “H-How much is rent?”  
  
“Nope,” Michael sings, planting his feet by the door. God, Jeremy looks so uncomfortable in his own new house. Okay, maybe that’s kinda justifiable.  
  
“Oh, come on, Michael!”  
  
The next few minutes are filled with back and forth and within a few seconds, Rich had whipped up a full power point presentation (much to Michael and Jeremy’s surprise) providing points as to why Jeremy was not in any way going to pay rent.  
  
Through a few more well-rounded arguments, they agreed on the prospect of Jeremy paying for the groceries. Technically, he was paying for them to live just as he would have if they divided the rent in thirds, so Jeremy was satisfied.  
  
“Dude, why are you so happy about this? You’re literally paying for two water buffalos plus you to eat.” Michael smirks with amusement at Jeremy’s contempt smile, blaming the heating his cheeks on the broken air conditioner. Sure. Yup.  
  
Jeremy just laughs before walking back outside to begin moving his things in. The three work tirelessly, dragging overflowing trash bags into the guest room.  
  
“Lemonade break,” Rich yells with jazz hands as Jeremy sets down the last bag, panting slightly.  
  
Great. Now, take your shirt off.  
  
Wait, what?  
  
Michael shrugs off the thoughts, sitting down on the mattress beside Jeremy. Occasional sounds that mirror clinks of glasses and the refrigerator being opened and closed interrupt the silence. This might just be the first time Michael has been able to handle silence. No, not handle. Embrace. The quiet wraps around him and Jeremy like a welcoming blanket, the two sitting and just enjoying each other’s presence like old friends. To Michael, it’s the definition of perfection.  
  
He casts a sidelong glance at Jeremy, who eyes the bags on the carpet with a light stare, feeling his heart skip a beat. God, why did the light have to hit him just like that? Why did the sky blue of the walls bring out Jeremy’s own expansive, cloudless skies...eyes. Right. Those. Those things that are now looking at Michael and narrowed and…  
  
Michael jumps, yanking his eyes from Jeremy, who caught his love-struck stare. He can only hope that Jeremy’s usual obliviousness shrouds the meaning behind the look as his whole upper half heats up. Eyes down, Michael.  
  
Whether fate or the universe or God himself decided to pay him one good thing, Michael isn’t sure as Rich busts through the door, holding two glasses chock full of yellow liquid. He hums the tune to a Nickelback song as he grabs his own and sits down, the former being just to annoy Michael.  
  
The trio sits in peace, nursing their drinks in an act of procrastination. They all know that the next step would be to actually unpack everything and it’s already nearing 6:00.  
  
Noticing that the liquid in his cup is almost gone, Michael tips his head back, letting the rest of the cool drink fall down his throat, the cold spreading through his stomach. As he opens his eyes once more, he finds a pair of blue eyes staring at him, slightly widened.  
  
“You okay, Jere?”  
  
Jeremy quickly snaps his head downwards, squeezing his eyes shut. “Nothing.” He pauses, a sheepish smile crossing his face. “I mean, yeah.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
…….  
  
“Do you seriously need Crocs, Jeremy? Like, really need them?” Rich stares in disgust at the pair of bright orange shoes, holding them far away from his body. “I think not.” Jeremy watches in disbelief, the picture frame in his hands momentarily forgotten as he jumps. Before he can reach Rich’s small body, the shoes are in the trash.  
  
“Dude, what the heck!?”  
  
“It’s for your own good. Other than the fact that it looks like you agglomerated and melted every traffic cone in circulation and made a pair of shoes, Crocs died in the great war of the 2000s. It’s best to retire them.” Rich smiles slightly as Jeremy scoffs, shaking his head whilst trying to not to laugh.  
  
Michael watches on from his place atop the bed, where he pins a Grateful Dead poster next to one with the Heathers Musical outline, as Michael marvels at the fact that he thought only himself could have such diverse music taste.  
  
……..  
  
The sun sinks low on the horizon, the summer breeze blowing through the open window. Rich had just left to get something, anything, for the three to live off of, so Michael had situated himself by the window, his laptop resting on his—well—lap, the click of the keys being the only sound in the room as Jeremy had taken to reading on the couch parallel to Michael.  
  
In his hands, Jeremy holds a book worn with time, the pages yellowed and the cover torn a bit. Jeremy had told Michael that it was his favorite book, given to him on his 16th birthday by his dad. The boy’s lips are upturned, his eyes crinkling as they skim the pages, flipping the paper with small rustling noises.  
  
Turning his eyes to the window, Michael sighs at the view. Maybe the apartment isn’t on the best side of town, but God, the sunsets. Michael kind of always had a fascination with those. Other than the obvious beauty, the ever-changing color giving way to streetlights and nightlife, Michael adored the meaning behind it. Or, at east, the meaning he associated with it.  
  
To him, sunsets were a beacon of hope, a sign that every bad day ends. That bad day will morph into another day. So, okay, the next might be just as bad, but it might not and that’s all Michael can hope for.  
  
As he tears his eyes from the open window, turning his ears from the soft sound of traffic below, Michael freezes, his breath catching in his throat as his eyes land on Jeremy.  
  
Jeremy had shifted in the armchair, moving so that his side was tucked against the back, his legs pulled against his chest and head leaned back, eyes still glued to that book.  
  
Michael isn’t sure what artist painted this picture just for him, but if he could take a snapshot of this moment, he would live in it forever.  
  
The orange-pink glow of the sun casts shadows on his angular face, skin illuminated, dusted with constellations of freckles. The reflection of the setting sun is caught in his half-lidded eyes that glisten and his impossibly pink lips are parted as he mouths small words.  
  
Jeremy’s hair takes on a glow as well, the curls turning a shade lighter, working together in an intricate dance. Michael can practically feel his own fingers carding through Jeremy’s wonderful hair.  
  
As for his body, curled in on itself, the famous blue cardigan is falling off of one shoulder, showing too much of Jeremy’s collarbone for Michael’s self-control.  
  
Michael’s small gasp is hidden by a honk from below as he marvels as this person’s beauty. Michael can’t help but wonder what it would be like to fall asleep happy, holding Jeremy close to his chest. He can’t help but imagine soft kisses and dates the color of blushes, painting an image, a goal, behind his eyelids.  
  
The realization of the inevitable hits him like a truck, one that he really should have seen coming as he swallows around his too-large tongue, an urge telling him that he wants that life with Jeremy.  
  
Michael is in love with Jeremy.  
  
“Oh,” he mutters, still transfixed on Jeremy, who looks up.  
  
“Huh?” He asks, completely oblivious to Michael’s previous epiphany.  
  
“Uh, I said…” Michael trails off, floundering on the spot. “Low. I said low. Like, low word count, haha. Better get back to work.” Not trusting himself to handle Jeremy’s reaction, he sinks in his chair, typing out a random phrase to get the suspicion off of him.  
  
Heavens above.  
  
Michael is screwed.  
  
…..  
  
“Ramen noodles were created by the Gods,” Rich announces, setting his bowl on the table and sitting across from Jeremy and Michael. Michael instantly counters this statement.  
  
“Don’t you mean the gods’ kids who were in both college and debt?”  
  
“Why, yes, Michael,” Rich says, pushing fake glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Yes, I do. Thank you for your contribution.”  
  
.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
“You guys are so weird,” Jeremy observes, spooning the noodles into his mouth with a look of confusion in his eyes. Michael intentionally looks away.  
  
“Yep,” Rich agrees, laughing slightly. Michael takes a swig of his gloriously 90’s drink and props and elbow on the wooden table, ignoring the white paint chipping mercilessly.  
  
“So, today was pretty great. Chloe’s a genius,” he says before stuffing some of the Ramen down his throat.  
  
“Yeah,” Jeremy smiles, a far-off look coming to his eyes, “She’s pretty great. They all are.”  
  
Michael snorts. “Especially Jake, right Rich?” Rich flushes the color of apples as he ducks his head, not having enough time to think of a comeback as Jeremy sits bolt upright.  
  
“Dude, really? I can so see that! Can I be the flower-girl at your wedding?” Jeremy flashes the smallest with a bright, somewhat teasing smile and Michael cuts his offer down fast.  
  
“Excuse you, Heere. That position is already taken. You may be assistant flower-girl.” Jeremy mock pouts before shrugging and returning to his “Debt Food”. Rich, on the other hand, gives Michael a ravenous smirk.  
  
“Really, Michael? So, you don’t want me to talk about your crush on-,”  
  
“I will murder you in your sleep,” Michael says with a sickly sweet smile and he quickly narrows his eyes, giving Rich the signal to shut up.  
  
Jeremy, apparently, missed this, because he turns to Michael, head cocked sideways like a confused puppy. “Isn’t that a bit harsh?”  
  
Michael waves the question off, taking another drink before responding. “Blame it on Tyler.”  
  
“Eh?”  
  
Rich groans, dropping his spoon on the table with a growl. “For the last time, Michael, you can’t blame every bad thing you say on Tyler!”  
  
“W-Who’s Tyler?” Jeremy had leaned back in his chair, his fear evident as both Michael and Rich quickly go to explaining.  
  
“Michael claims to have this demon inside him. He blames whatever he does on it, named it Tyler and everything.”  
  
Michael nods along with Rich’s explanation because, sincerely, nothing of it is a lie.  
  
“You name your demons? That’s…kinda cool I guess. I’ll name mine!” Jeremy smiles wide, his food forgotten for the moment as he puts on a thinking face while Rich stands up, scowling.  
  
“I’m done with you two,” he mutters, heading to his room.  
  
“Tasty dreams! “Michael calls after him, earning a snarl in response. One of Michael’s favorite things to do is antagonize Rich…and, God, it’s so easy.  
  
“I’ve got it!” Jeremy yells. “Rowan. My demon is named Rowan.”  
  
Michael chuckles lowly, standing up and bowing deeply. “Tyler welcomes Rowan with open arms.”  
  
Jeremy’s beam is enough to light up the world. Or, at least, Michael’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, what? Two chapters in a week?   
> Sorry, this chapter was mainly dialogue that i felt was necessary   
> *Spot the second reference, J.*  
> I so appreciate all the positive feedback this is getting. You all are absolutely wonderful!!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It seems to be the common thread that Eric needs to be taught a lesson....so...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Literally everything but the end is very self-indulgent. Whoops.

The next few weeks go by relatively quickly in Michael’s perspective. He spends the light hours writing, nobly fighting off writer’s block, while Rich and Jeremy are off at their respective activities. Rich, taking classes at the local college, works towards his degree in psychology. He had once confided in Michael that what he wanted in life was to help people feel better, help them kill their own demons.  
  
Jeremy, on the other hand, had made up his mind that he needed to find a sustaining job. At first, he worked as a volunteer at the pet shelter, getting on the boss’s sweet side, until she insisted on paying him for working there. Of course, he didn’t know jack about animals, other than dogs go woof and cats say meow, so he couldn’t exactly help in the medical part, but he sure could shovel kibble like a pro.  
  
Once he had a steady income, Jeremy was perfectly comfortable with spamming Michael with selfie after selfie of Jeremy and the animals. Of course, Michael saved every single one.  
  
As for the nights, Jeremy had finally worked up the nerve to ask Michael about his game systems, admitting that he couldn’t get past level nine of Apocalypse of the Damned. Michael had laughed, sitting him down on the leather couch and pushing hour after hour of artificial light. It became a nightly thing.  
  
In short, things were good. Eric hadn’t tried to get back at Jeremy, and the group got together more often. I mean, sure, Michael was still head over heels for Jeremy, but that isn’t a new concept.  
  
This went on for about three weeks. That is, until one morning.  
  
……  
  
Michael cracks his eyes open, groaning slightly as Jeremy’s hands shake him awake. Not even awake enough to wonder why Jeremy is in his room in the first place, Michael rolls over, mumbling nonsense.  
  
“Michael!” Jeremy whispers as Michael detects the smile on his face. “Guess what?”  
  
“What?” Throat sore from hours of unused, Michael cringes at A) his morning breath and B) the fact that his voice sounds like a dying lizard.  
  
“Mahal kita, Michael.”  
  
Michael jerks forward, gulping back a gasp and he pants, whipping his head to Jeremy. “You f-…What?” Oh, God. Is Michael dreaming? He must be dreaming, right? He can’t keep the smile off of his face. Does Jeremy feel the same way? Is he confessing?  
  
Disappointment sinks in, though, as he focuses in on Rich smirking from the doorway.  
  
“You’re a good friend, Michael.” Ouch. The old ‘unintentional but just as harrowing friend zone’. Jeremy smiles innocently as he lays the words down before Michael, who mentally counts to five before plastering a smile on his face.  
  
“Thanks, Jere. You’re a great friend, too. Can I talk to Rich really quickly?”  
  
Worry crosses Jeremy’s eyes as he nods, silently stepping out of the bedroom and wandering off to some other part of the apartment.  
  
“Rich,” Michael asks politely, pushing the covers off of his legs and standing up. “What was that?”  
  
Rich snickers. “I told Jeremy you knew Tagalog, which isn’t a lie, and that you taught me the basics. Again, not a lie.”  
  
“And, so you told Jeremy that mahal kita means ‘you’re a great friend’ just to see me flounder?”  
  
“Precisely.”  
  
Michael sighs, shaking his head and slipping his sweatshirt on in the chill of the morning. “Go to hell.”  
  
…………..  
  
Other than the heart-attack Michael had experienced earlier that morning, the rest of the day conformed to the new normal, the only sound in the apartment being the quiet voice of Hozier and the clicking of keys.  
  
It’s immensely calming, keeping his mind off the way Jeremy had walked into his room like he owned the world, wearing his adorable dopey smile and basically saying “I Love You” with confidence unmatched. Michael can’t help but wonder what it would be like for Jeremy to know exactly what he said and say it with just as much confidence.  
  
Rich gets home first, letting the door swing wide and bang against the thin wall as he sings loudly, “Honey, I’m hoooome!”  
  
Michael snorts from his spot, looking at the clock to find that it’s nearly four…approximately an hour and thirty-six minutes until Jeremy gets off of work. But it’s totally not like Michael counts down all day. Absolutely not.  
  
“How were your classes, dearest?” Michael asks with a buttery voice, fluttering his eyelashes at Rich.  
  
“Great. Now, woman, what are you doing? Get in the kitchen and make me a sandwich.”  
  
“Sexist pig.”  
  
…………  
  
Once Jeremy got home, a rambling mess with a cute blush as he talks animatedly about the dogs that were adopted today, Michael soon found himself in a state of shock.  
  
“What do you want for dinner?” The question is innocent enough, as it’s Michael’s turn to cook and he’s pretty good at it. It’s an art form.  
  
“Whatever you can make,” Jeremy says nonchalantly, looking up from his phone.  
  
Michael pauses, cocking his head. “That’s pretty much everything, so the question remains.”  
  
Jeremy looks up with surprise in his eyes. “Really? Everything? Are you serious?” Had Jeremy not paid attention these past three mcfrickin weeks where Michael put crap on the table???  
  
“Yeah? Pretty serious?” Michael watches with lifted eyebrows as Jeremy stands, walking over to stand across the counter.  
  
“Teach me your ways,” he says in a joking whisper, eye filled with wonder as Michael grins.  
  
“Okay, then. What can you not make?”  
  
“Good question, Michael,” Jeremy says quietly, chuckling as he rubs the skin of his arm, casting a glance out the window and into the dark expanse of night. “Everything,” he mumbles, reaching up to scratch at his collarbone.  
  
Wow, what a nice collarbone. It would look even better is that shirt wasn’t covering it and-  
  
Can it, Mikey. Michael quickly shakes his head, playing it off as bewilderment as he leans and elbow on the counter. “Really?”  
  
Michael’s answer is embarrassed silence.  
  
“That’s it. We’re making pizza. Michael style.”  
  
Jeremy blinks, walking to the fridge and opening it, studying the contents. “Um, I hate to tell you this, but we don’t have any dough. Or pepperoni, for that matter.”  
  
“No,” Michael agrees, pulling the pantry door open. “But you know what we do have?” He holds a bag up Simba-style. “Bagels and creativity.”  
  
Jeremy cocks his head, examining the carb-filled bag of wonders. “What-?”  
  
…….  
“I was so wrong,” Jeremy whispers, eyes wide as he stares at Michael in shock. “Bagel pizzas are amazing.”  
  
Michael smirks in triumph, ignoring Rich’s loud eating sounds and CRUMBS. “What’d I tell, you, Heere?”  
  
“I beg for forgiveness, master,” Jeremy laughs, taking another bite.  
  
God, don’t say that.  
  
……..  
  
Michael furrows his eyebrows, focusing on the bright light of the tv in the darkness of the room as he mashes buttons on his controller. Slaying zombie after zombie, he rests on a beanbag, ignoring the lock on the wall practically screaming at him to be a normal human and go to bed.  
  
For the past few minutes, Michael had felt eyes on him numerous times, but when he looked at Jeremy, he was always leaning forward, immersed in the game. Deeming it game jitters, Michael has the sense to ignore it, smiling as Jeremy curses at the bright red “GAME OVER” that turns the room a sickly dim color of blood.  
  
“Try again?” Michael proposes, staring at a forlorn Jeremy.  
  
Jeremy just clenches his fists, pouting. “If I see that end screen one more time I’ll most definitely end up in hell for my actions.”  
  
Michael chuckles, nudging Jeremy’s shoulder with his own. “In that case, I have a suggestion.” Jeremy turns his eyes to Michael, the red of the screen gore reflecting in his eyes. “Late night 7/11 run?”  
  
Jeremy smiles brightly, abandoning his game controller as he turns fully to Michael, excitement written across his illuminated features. “Dude, yes!”  
  
The two stand, giggling quietly as they ease out of the apartment, mindful of Rich. The small man had made it quite clear that if they woke him up again, he would make a designer scarf with their entrails.  
  
Or not, I guess.  
  
Rich’s door opens as they pass, letting a bit of lamplight into the hallway. “Where are you going?”  
  
Timidly, Jeremy speaks up, worrying they woke him. “Slushies?”  
  
Rich just smiles, looking mighty awake for a college student at three am. “Obviously, I’m coming.”  
  
Both Jeremy and Michael blink in surprise. “O-okay, then,” Michael says, gesturing to the open door. “Let us embark.”  
  
…..  
  
_To: Boy-Bi ___  
  
_rICH ___  
  
Michael presses his lips together, letting the cool breeze of the night lift his hair just a bit, focusing even more on the way it twirled Jeremy’s hair. God, what a wonderful head of hair. The three turn into the corner store, thankful that it’s open 24/7.  
  
_From: Boy-Bi ___  
  
_the hell, mikey? I’m walking right next to u ___  
  
_To: Boy-Bi ___  
  
_I know so shut up, but LOOK AT HOW BEAUTIFUL JEREMY LOOKS IN THE FAKE LIGHT THINGIES ___  
  
_From: Boy-Bi ___  
  
_Yesh sure ___  
  
_Yeah* ___  
  
Beside Michael, Rich sighs lightly as Jeremy stand oblivious, holding his empty slushy cup, examining the many flavors before giving up and filling it to the brim with cherry.  
  
Michael chuckles, filling his cup with an assortment of colors before going up to the counter to pay, covering everyone as an act of kindness.  
  
The poor cashier looks like they want to die, with dark bags under dull eyes and a frozen frown as they ring up Michael and his two amigos.  
  
As they walk out of the store, Michael takes a deep breath, sipping from his straw and absentmindedly leaning into Jeremy, their shoulders pushing together as the walk briskly. The silence of the night is comforting, a sharp contrast to the busy streets during the day.  
  
As they walk, the cool night coats Michael in a fuzzy, slightly tired feeling as the three walk in comfortable silence, something that Michael accepts more and more now.  
  
“Honestly, me,” Jeremy mumbles, observing a family of raccoons having dinner from a dumpster.  
  
Michael snorts, taking another sip. “Same.” Rich sighs, smiling wide.  
  
“Guys, we’re the raccoons of the people world.”  
  
The three laugh lightheartedly, enjoying each other’s company like old friends.  
  
.  
  
_And it all falls apart. ___  
  
.  
  
As they pass a bar at the corner of a street, the door opens, letting loud music slip into the night just to be carried away on the wind. A man stumbles out, drunk beyond belief as he staggers towards Michael, Rich, and Jeremy. Unfazed by the drunkard, as it isn’t really that unusual, they continue walking. That is, until Jeremy sees the man’s face.  
  
Jeremy’s thin form goes impossibly still as Michael feels him hold his breath. Michael himself clenches his fist, white hot rage resurfacing as he eyes Eric’s face, stubble claiming the lower part of it.  
  
Rich feels the switch in the atmosphere, pausing and looking at Michael. “This him?”  
  
Michael just nods as Rich drops his slushy cup into a trash can, clenching his jaw and Eric edges closer. He sees to recognize Jeremy, because he breaks out into a malicious smile, breath thick with the smell of liquor.  
  
“Hello, Jeremy,” he rasps, words slurred. “You haven’t been home.” His tone is that of taunting, eye crinkling at the edges.  
  
Rich loses it.  
  
Letting his small body fly, Rich tackles Eric, pinning him to the concrete and landing a solid punch to Eric’s eye. Eric grips Rich’s arms, twisting his hand as he seethes.  
  
Jeremy steps back a bit, his face blank, but his hand grasps Michael’s, who squeezes his hand in reassurance. The two just watch.  
  
Rich brings his knee up, baring his teeth as his leg connects with Eric’s crotch. Eric lets out a small gasp but lets his hand fly across Rich’s face, not getting anything else in in his drunken state.  
  
Rich gets a few more punches in before he stands up, eyeing Eric’s twitching body.  
  
Even the music from the bar can’t overpower the tense silence. Eric chuckles, blood trickling from his nose into his mouth.  
  
Rich squints. “Shut up,” he hisses, kicking Jeremy’s abuser in the side of the stomach. Twice for good measure.  
  
Jeremy blinks a few times, expression still as he takes a breath and tightens his grip on Michael.  
  
Eric opens his eyes again, pain radiating from his abnormally blue eyes that are filled with tears. “Jeremy,” he mumbles, breathing hard through the pain Rich had inflicted. “Jeremy, I’m sorry.”  
  
In spite of the situation, Michael bites back a laugh, bitterness crawling through his stomach as Jeremy lets go of his hand and kneels on the ground before Eric, who lays prostrate. Jeremy schools his features into something like icy calm as he wraps his hand around Eric’s wrist and squeezes tight.  
  
“You’ve said that one too many times for me to believe, Eric.”  
  
“Please, Jeremy,” Eric pleads, wincing at the effort to speak.  
  
Pride fills Michael’s chest as he watches, nerves still coursing through him. Rich still has his hands balled into fists, blood dripping off of his knuckles. Eric’s face portrays horror as Jeremy stands up, gesturing for Michael and Rich to follow him. Wordlessly, they do.  
  
Until Jeremy stops short, eyes cold as he turns around and says in a voice free of any kind of stuttering or nervousness, “The band-aids are in the top drawer. I would know.”  
  
With that, they’re gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tAKE THAT ERIC  
> Don't worry, there will be plenty of emotional turmoil later  
> The next chapter might be in Jeremy's POV? Maybe?  
> Comments are always wanted.  
> Later  
> -me


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeremy's POV!!!  
> Because why not???

Jeremy sighs as Michael’s arms tighten around his waist. Why does he feel so guilty about Eric? Maybe it’s worse that he felt amazing as Eric got pummeled? Jeremy shakes off the thoughts, shrinking more into Michael, the couch cushion giving more under him.  
  
“Wanna talk about it?” Michael asks, the rumble in his chest pressed against Jeremy’s back.  
  
“No,” Jeremy says simply, eyes trained on the sky slowly morphing from a deep black to an icy gray. Had he really been up all night?  
  
Down the hall, the sound of running water stops as Rich must have gotten done washing the blood—Eric’s blood—off of his hands. Calm down, Jeremy scolds himself, it’s not like you killed him.  
  
Absentmindedly, Jeremy snuggles into Michael’s embrace, twisting his face to bury it into Michael’s hoodie that smelled like…well…Michael.  
  
Jeremy would know. Michael smells like light cologne and something sweet, with a hint of laundry detergent. Alternatively, Michael smells like happiness and wide smiles. He smells like late night giggles and loud singing voices and midnight dancing. Michael smells like freedom and opportunities and…Michael smells like redemption. A new life. Happiness.  
  
Perhaps this part isn’t Jeremy, completely and totally, but Jeremy can’t stop himself from pulling back, staring at Michael’s mocha skin, eyes raking over his jaw and questioning chocolate eyes. His eyes ghost over Michael’s lips, almost always curled upwards into a smile. Jeremy wonders if they would be soft against his…  
  
I mean…  
  
_Crap. ___  
  
Jeremy jumps up, walking quickly to the door with a thunderous heartbeat, tugging on his Converse.  
  
“Jere?” Michael calls form the couch, frozen in confusion.  
  
“Gotta get to work,” Jeremy says quickly, needing to get out and get out now.  
  
“Jeremy, it’s not even 5 am,” Michael counters, lifting himself from the seat and padding across the carpet.  
  
“Gottagobye,” Jeremy yells, slipping out the front door and powerwalks down the hall, rounding the corner and pressing his back to the wall. The chill of the night would eventually give way to the torturous scolding heat of summer days, but Jeremy doesn’t think of that as he pulls his phone from his pocket, scrolling through his contacts.  
  
_To: Everything’s (aro) Ace ___  
  
_Christine? U up? ___  
  
Deciding against sitting and waiting for a response, Jeremy peels himself off of the wall, trying not to focus on the voices in his head screaming something painfully obvious. He jogs down the stairs, wishing he had a jacket with him as his bare arms swing in the air.  
  
As he steps out of the lobby and onto the street, already filling up with people racing to the coffee shops for their daily fill, the phone in Jeremy’s hand buzzes.  
  
_From: Everything’s (aro) Ace ___  
  
_I am now. Why? ___  
  
Quickly, Jeremy types out a response, trusting his other senses to help him not run into a pole or something.  
  
_To: Everything’s (aro) Ace ___  
  
_Sorry. What time do you have to be at the theater? ___  
  
Almost immediately, Christine replies.  
  
_From: Everything’s (aro) Ace ___  
  
_Yes, Jeremy, you can come over. ___  
  
Jeremy grins, tapping out that he would be there in 15, turning onto a street that would ultimately lead him to the only café in town that wouldn’t be packed at this time of day. Arguably, the best, but that might just be because it’s the one he met Michael in.  
  
Jeremy pushes the door open, the small bell above dinging softly. The woman behind the counter smiles as Jeremy approaches the register, setting her phone down and brushing back an auburn strand of hair.  
  
“Good morning, sir. What can I get you?”  
  
Taking a deep breath, Jeremy recites his order. “Hi. I’ll have a medium-,” He cuts himself off, remembering Christine. “Two medium black coffees. Oh, and a croissant, please?” His growling stomach had won that inner battle.  
  
“Yes, sir. That will be $7.36. Can I get a name with that?”  
  
“Jeremy.”  
  
Jeremy uses the wait time to text Rich, who had sent about a million messages asking where Jeremy had run off to so quickly and if he needed help.  
  
_To: Boy-Bi ___  
  
_Hey! Don’t worry, I’m fine. I’m meeting up with Christine before work. ___  
  
Not a lie, except he doesn’t plan on going to work.  
  
Or not. He promised Sugar the dalmatian that he’d ‘see her tomorrow’ and he never broke a promise. He has time.  
  
Within the next ten minutes, he had arrived at Christine’s doorstep, knocking on the wooden door. A few seconds pass before Christine opens it, her body small as a large fluffy black robe swallows her up, revealing the front of sweatpants and a t-shirt. Her eyes are clouded with sleep, but she smiles nonetheless.  
  
“Hi, Jeremy!” She pulls the door open farther, making a ‘come in’ gesture. Jeremy nods, slipping in and handing her the second cup of scalding coffee. “Thanks,” she chirps, walking beside Jeremy to the living room.  
  
“So,” she says, plopping down on the armchair across from where Jeremy rests. “Why are you here?” Christine freezes, eyes flying wide and she sputters. “That sounded so mean, I’m sorry. I just mean there’s gotta be a reason for wanting to see me at the crack of dawn.”  
  
“Yeah,” Jeremy says with a light smile, before remembering the initial reason for wanting to talk. He sighs, nervously fiddling with the lid of his cup. “I-I might have…feelings for Michael,” he mutters, the words low and jumbled.  
  
Christine sketches a brow. “Oh?”  
  
“I just—I mean—he’s just perfect, y’know? Like, he’s warm and sweet and funny. And, God, Christine, he can sing! I just walk into the living room and he’s sitting there singing to whatever song his computer was playing. He was good! He's constantly saying something stupid and I just wanna say 'Please put your mouth on my mouth" but I can't so I'm just like,” Jeremy growls, making a frenzied gesture with his hands.  
  
Taking a few seconds to calm himself down, Jeremy smiles. “I don’t know. This morning, we were kinda hugging on the couch and I was thinking about how he was so great and then I looked at him and my chest did a thing? I wanted to just…never see anything but him again. I decided I’d be perfectly okay with spending my life with him.”  
  
Christine takes a sip of her drink. “Honestly, Jeremy, out of all the people in the group, you decide to ask the one that’s aro/ace for love advice?” Jeremy shoots her a glare and she leans back, giving a suggestion. “Tell him.”  
  
“I can’t just do that,” Jeremy says in a slightly panicked manor, before heaving a sigh and running a finger along the yellow wall. Jeremy doesn’t really care for the color, but it suits Christine. “It’s just—What if he doesn’t feel the same way? I’d make a fool of myself. It’d ruin our friendship.”  
  
Christine smiles, shaking her head slightly, short black hair bouncing. “I really don’t think you’d have to worry about that, Jeremy. If the puppy eyes and adoration aren’t red flags that he feels the same, you can always bank on the fact that Michael loves you either way. Just because he might not have feelings for you in that way doesn’t mean he’d let that ruin your friendship. He values you way too much for that to happen.”  
  
Silence.  
  
Christine analyzes the hesitation on Jeremy’s face before she comes to a conclusion. “That’s not all you’re worried about, is it?”  
  
“I’m…scared,” Jeremy confesses, slumping in his chair. “I know Michael and I know he’d never do anything to me, but-,”  
  
“But it happened before? But you trusted someone and they violated that?” Jeremy just nods. “Jeremy, Michael would break his own two legs before he hurts you in any way.”  
  
Jeremy considers his friend’s words, finishing the little bit of liquid left in his cup, he stands. “Thanks, Chris. You’re the best.”  
  
“And don’t you forget it,” Christine jokes, smiling as she rises and leads Jeremy to the door.  
  
As Jeremy walks to the shelter, he flips his phone out of his pocket.  
  
_To: Mell-from-hell ___  
  
_Hey ___  
  
Jeremy isn’t given time to worry as the response is near immediate.  
  
_From: Mell-from-hell ___  
  
_Hey! Are you okay? ___  
  
Jeremy stops at the crosswalk, leaning against the pole as he replies.  
  
_To: Mell-from-hell ___  
  
_Yeah. I had to talk to Christine about something. It’s all good ___  
  
This time, the reply takes a few minutes, those of which Jeremy spends shouldering person after person aside, ignoring the masses that flocked to work.  
  
_From: Mell-from-hell ___  
  
_That’s good! Rich is thinking going out for sushi 2nite. Yay or nay? ___  
  
_To: Mell-from-hell ___  
  
_Total yay ___  
  
In that moment, Jeremy decides that he’d tell Michael. Okay, sure, it definitely won’t be today…or tomorrow…but eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I get a M-U-T-U-A-L P-I-N-I-N-G  
> I have this all planned out and everything. Only a little bit more to go *screaming*  
> As always, leave some love  
> Thanks for reading <3


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shrek.

The weekend is something that all can appreciate, giving Jeremy two days off from work and Michael an excuse to stay up even later than usual and sleep until late in the afternoon (not that he doesn’t already do that), and Rich...well he has to write an essay, but what else is new?

Michael rests at the table, laptop set up so that the back is directly facing the window. Across the room, Jeremy sits cross-legged on the couch playing Call of Duty, the volume turned way down low in a show of respect. 

The sun shines high in the sky, casting natural light into the room so that they don’t have to turn any lamps on and the noon rush of Saturday traffic sends in muffled noises. The cacophony of honks, yells, and tire screeches is almost comforting to Michael.

In truth, Michael had surprised himself by waking up at around eleven, a good feeling unfurling in his stomach, and scarfing down a chocolate muffin. Jeremy woke up a short while later, padding into the living room and giving Michael a sleepy ‘good morning’. 

The clicking of typing and Michael’s voice softly humming some Hozier song fill the room, accompanying the city sounds from below. (Hozier had become Michael’s writing muse, per se. He is never writing without some song of his playing in the background.) 

Suddenly, the typing noises come to a shuddering halt. Jeremy seems to pay no mind to this, but as Michael slowly mutes his music and sits still, eyeing the computer screen with wide eyes.  


“Michael? You okay?” Jeremy turns his attention to the lack of noise, pausing his game and lifting himself from the couch. Michael, on the other hand, raises his hands as if showing innocence, eyes still focused intensely on the fake light. Though his eyes are wide, the rest of his face is pale and slack. “Michael, what is it?” 

Getting worried, Jeremy takes large strides to Michael. Michael barely registers his presence as he huffs a humorless laugh. 

“It’s done,” he murmurs, more to himself than anything. He shakes his head in disbelief, running the mouse over the word indicator, grinning at the number. 94,240 words, all thought out and planned profusely by Michael. 

“Huh?” Jeremy leans in, confusion overpowering his fear. 

“The book. I’m done,” Michael says slowly before breaking out in a blinding grin. He watches Jeremy flush a bit before smiling as well. 

“Wait, dude, really?” 

“Yeah!” This time, Michael lets the excitement sink in as he stands up from his chair, ignoring his numb legs. He clenches and unclenches his fists, not knowing what to do with his elation. “I mean,” he begins to ramble, “yeah, I have to send it to my editor and stuff. Oh, and then there’s the whole publishing process, but…”

“Michael!” Jeremy yells, grabbing his shoulders and squeezing. In Michael’s excitement, he doesn’t scold himself for enjoying the touch. “That’s amazing! We have to celebrate!”’

“Yeah!” Michael agrees, showing teeth in a barely-controlled grin. Jeremy’s hands tighten on his shoulders and he seems to make a last-minute decision before pulling Michael close, laughing into Michael’s neck. 

“I’m so proud of you, dude,” he says as Michael fights a shudder at the warm breath on his skin. Feeling Jeremy’s long arms around his torso, Michael slowly pulls him tighter, letting out a low laugh before ruffling Jeremy’s hair, his mind screaming at all the physical contact he allows himself. He pulls back, sighing and taking another look at the computer. “Oh, my god. I just can’t believe I actually got it done. I was in, what, eleventh grade when I got the idea?” 

“We’re getting the gang together and celebrating the only way I know how to,” Jeremy declares, grabbing his phone and sending out a text to the group chat. 

“Slushies and a Shrek marathon?”

“You know it.” 

Michael’s back pocket buzzes as he gets the text 

_From: Heere n’ Queer ___

____

_To: H.O.M.I.E.S ___

_____ _

_GUYS. MICHAEL HAS BIG NEWS. COME NOW. ___

_______ _ _ _

Michael snorts, pocketing his phone and ignoring the buzzes in response. He sits back down at the table, his pounding heart quieter in his chest as he prepares the attachment email to his editor.

_______ _ _ _

……………..

_______ _ _ _

“A toast,” Jeremy announces as he enters the room, lifting his 7/11 cup in a regal manner, eyes dancing from person to person before landing on Michael, “to the wonderful, talented Michael Mell.” 

_______ _ _ _

From the floor, Rich and Jake whistle while the girls of the couch (Chloe, Brooke, Jenna, and Christine) smile and nod in agreement, each lifting their own cup. From the armchair, Michael blushes at the praise, slowly lifting his cup as well. 

_______ _ _ _

“Huzzah!” Rich cheers before taking a monstrous gulp of slushy. Everyone else follows, letting out their own cheer and downing the drinks. Michael smiles into the lip of his cup, watching as Jeremy crosses the room and sits in front of Michael’s chair, leaning his back onto Michael’s legs.

_______ _ _ _

That probably isn’t the best for Michael. Nope, not at all. As Michael’s attention is focused on the beautiful person leaning against his legs, he misses the beginning of the first Shrek movie, along with the whole group yelling the words to All Star, which he felt bad about missing. This, though, pales in comparison to when Jeremy relaxes fulling into him, leaning his head against Michael’s knees and twisting his fingers in the carpet. 

_______ _ _ _

Timidly, Michael reaches out a hand, blinded by the voice of Eddy Murphy, and begins to twirl the edges of Jeremy’s curls with his fingers. Wow, did it feel like heaven on a stick.

_______ _ _ _

Across the room, Michael catches the eyes of Christine, who smirks as Michael blushes red, not retracting his hand. Her deep eyes dip lower, a smile curling on her lips at an expression on Jeremy’s face, one that Michael can’t see. 

_______ _ _ _

Okay, then. Michael turns his eyes to Rich and Jake, who sit propped up on the bean bags. Rich’s body is tucked into Jake’s arm, his head resting on his chest. Seriously, just kiss already, dudes. But, like, in front of Michael so he can video it and play it at the wedding they’ll surely have. In his head, Michael tries to come up with a creative ship name, disappointed when the only candidates are ‘Rake’ and ‘Jich’, which both sound like STD’s. Richjake will have to do for now.

_______ _ _ _

The phone in Michael’s hand buzzes a few minutes into the third movie, when the moon has taken its place among the stars, lighting the way for midnight lovers and drunks alike and after an intense argument between Jenna and Jeremy about whether or not a second Shrek movie second at all was necessary. Michael swipes past his lock screen and sees a text from his editor, a family friend in Soho. 

_______ _ _ _

_From: Jordyn ___

_________ _ _ _ _ _

_Awesome! I’ll get right on it! ___

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Michael rereads the text a few times, a small smile gracing his face as he lets the contempt seep in.  
Michael can’t tell what part of his day was better: finishing his book or Rich and Jake making out during “I Need a Hero” as Michael silently cried, his camera pointed directly at the two.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

It’s kind of a toss.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slushies and Shrek. Pretty legit.  
> Short chapter, I know, but the good stuff is coming up.  
> Screw it. Come harass me on my Tumblr, as i am an Edgy Teen @left-handed-fandomite  
> As always, leave some love


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh snap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how the publishing process works, so bear with me.

Within a few days, Jordyn had gotten back with Michael, saying that the book was wonderful and that she was so proud of him and his moms will be stoked. She pointed out a few places where the dialogue was a bit bland and chapters where more feeling should be put into the imagery, all of which Michael was eager to fix. 

A week later, after staying up countless hours and eating pounds of Ramen noodles, Michael had read and reread the book until his eyes bled, searching for anything his editor and Grammarly didn’t catch. All the while, Rich and Jeremy knew not to bother him unless he needed to eat or the apartment was on fire, only one of which was actually the case. 

At long last, Michael calls the two boys into the living room where he sits on the couch, the laptop places on the coffee table. Jeremy and Rich come out of their respective rooms in a hurry, worry coloring both of their faces. 

They each voice their own version of “What’s wrong?” as Michael cranes his neck to see them. Seeing that he isn’t dead or dying, the two relax a bit, though they both seem to be nervous.

Their nerves, though, pale in comparison to Michael’s. “Guys, I’m sending it off to the publisher and I’m really not wanting to press enter.” Michael turns his eyes back to the bright light of the computer, swallowing around the lump in his throat and the burning in his stomach. He looks out the window, checking the overcast sky again. 

The cushion beside him sags under Jeremy’s weight, Rich on the other side. Jeremy, it seems, sits significantly closer. “Come on, Michael,” he says encouragingly, wrapping a slender arm around Michael’s shoulders. 

“Yeah,” Rich agrees, leaning his elbows onto his knees, “you’ve been working on this for ages. It’s perfect and they’ll love it.” 

“Okay,” Michael sighs, reaching a shaky hand out to the mouse, the house still in tense silence. A single click breaks it and everyone relaxes, the “Successfully Sent” notification popping up. 

Michael stands, rubbing feeling back into his arms. “Now we wait, I guess. Jordyn proposed the idea to them a while back and they seemed to dig it, so I guess we just wait for a response.” 

Seeing that Michael’s body is still trembling, Jeremy and Rich come to a silent agreement. “Wanna go to Applebees?” Jeremy’s voice is small, but strong as he proposes the idea. 

“Hell yeah, man.”

…………….

Michael barks out a laugh at Chloe’s snide comment, pushing his marshmallow further into the roaring flame. Beside him, Jeremy angrily swats at a mosquito on his arm, evoking a laugh from Christine. 

“You’d think the smoke would repel them,” Jeremy grumbles, pulling his sleeve down further to cover the bitten skin. 

“Never, Jeremy,” Jake laughs, pulling his toasted treat off of the metal skewer and shoving it in between two graham crackers. 

The group sits around a large bonfire in Jake’s large backyard, smoke billowing into the dark, starry sky. At the beginning, everyone had tried their hand at chanting “I hate rabbits”, but it did nothing to stop the wind from mixing the smoke into their scents, twisting into their hair and lungs. The flames dance in the concrete pit, burning the wood hot and fast in a bright blaze of intricate glory. 

As Michael bites into his smore, his back-pocket buzzes from a text. He opens it up, wondering who it would be since all of his friends are right here, and freezes as he sees Jordyn’s name. It had been about two weeks since he sent the manuscript to the publisher.

_From: Jordyn ___

____

_The publishers just got back with me and they said they loved your book! I’m in contact with them right now, but it looks like the soonest release date is August 13th. That okay? ___

____

Not letting his excitement show to the rest of the group, he quickly switches to his calendar, finding that the release date is a short month away. Sweet Jesus on a bicycle. He types out that that’s perfect before going back to the calendar. 

“Michael? You good?” Jeremy’s slightly worried voice shakes him from his trance and Michael glances up at Jeremy and the bright flames twirling in his eyes. 

“Uh, yeah. Give me just a second. I might have some pretty big news.” Michael looks back down at his phone, his heart skipping a beat as another text rolls in.  
  
_From: Jordyn ___  
  
_Great, then. They confirmed the date and I’m working with the manager to get a release party scheduled that day. ___  
  
_From: Jordyn ___  
  
_Update, gala is on. I’ll come down for it. Make sure to tell your moms. ___  
  
“gUYS!” Michael yells, darting up from his seat and accidentally scaring Jeremy into dropping his food. Instantly, the attention is on him as he turns his phone to face the circle, though none of them can actually read what it says. “Jordyn has the release date set! August 13th!”  
  
A round of applause is brought forth, along with Rich and Jenna howling into the night like wolves.  
  
“Even better,” Michael grins, “is that there’s this release gala that night. You all are coming since you have absolutely no choice.”  
  
Chloe and Brook gasp at this and immediately fall into excited chatter about how everyone will get dressed up and such. Rich and Jake laugh, congratulating Michael on finally finishing things up. On the other hand, Jeremy goes still beside him.  
  
For once, Michael ignores this.  
  
……..  
  
Jenna had insisted that the boys dress up and, having no way to say no, they follow Jenna to a tuxedo shop about a week later, grumbling about nothing in particular.  
  
“Oh, shut it,” Jenna chides, sliding into the store and explaining the gist of the situation to the sales clerk, who leads an unwilling Michael—Really? He has to be first?—into the back, where she scrutinizes him from behind wire frame glasses.  
  
“Black,” she insists, shoving a suit-sized bag into his arms. “It’s classy and you obviously aren’t comfortable with anything flashy.” Thanks, clerk lady.  
  
Leaving Michael to fend for himself, the lady goes off to grab Jake after shoving Michael into a small dressing room, a wall of mirrors greeting him. Slowly, he strips his street clothes off, wondering if the underwear he was wearing would show through or not. Pac man is quite bright.  
  
He slips the suit on piece by piece, running a nervous hand through his hair as he turns to the mirror to see the finished product. His entire body is encased in black fabric, the outfit doing wonders on his shape, he must admit.  
  
Eventually, after fighting the urge to take a mirror selfie, Michael steps out, wandering down the hallway and to where Jenna would be waiting to give her stamp of approval. He edges his way into the lobby, hearing Jenna’s small gasp. Beside her on the leather couch, Jeremy sits, his head down as he scrolls on his phone.  
  
“So, it’s okay?” Michael asks, not being able to keep the hesitation out of his voice. Jeremy jumps a bit at the sound, eyes darting up and widening as he takes in Michael. Michael notices Jeremy’s body go slack, his phone clattering to the ground as his eyes travel over Michael.  
  
“Yes,” Jenna squeals, interrupting the moment and sending Michael back into the changing room to get back into his own clothes. As he emerges once more, the poorly zipped up suit hanging on his forearm, he shuffles back into the waiting room and plops down in the empty seat where Jeremy was. Poor kid taken off to the war, Michael assumes. Down the hall, Jeremy hears a clatter of noises, perhaps some of protest, but eventually, Rich and Jake walk out arm in arm, Jake sporting a dark blue suit and Rich wearing one the color of maroon, which, by some unearthly miracle, Rich pulls off quite nicely.  
  
This is nothing, though, compare to Jeremy as he follows, looking as if he wants to die as he shrinks into his own black suit. Hoooooly cow, Michael thinks to himself, inadvertently licking his bottom lip as he takes in the twunk before him.  
  
Deciding a wolf whistle is okay if he prays to the No Homo gods, he lets one out. Rich and Jake both ignore it, knowing that it isn’t directed at them, and Jeremy blushes, still looking down at his shoes.  
  
If he’s said it before, he’s said it a million times. Michael is screwed.  
  
………  
  
When Michael and Jeremy got back to the apartment, Rich off to get groceries, they collapse on the couch, huffing.  
  
“Jenna is ruthless,” Jeremy mutters, gesturing to the tuxes in the closets.  
  
“Agreed,” Michael sighs, sinking even lower. “I just can’t believe it’s three weeks away.”  
  
Jeremy goes still beside him. “Yeah,” he says a bit rigidly, “Me neither.”  
  
“Jere? What’s wrong?”  
  
Silence.  
  
“Jere?”  
  
“I can’t dance,” Jeremy confesses in a whoosh of air, instantly looking as though he regrets ever being born. “And it’s a gala so, y’know, you kinda have to know how to waltz or whatever because I wanna be there for you, but-,”  
  
“I’ll teach you.” Michael doesn’t give himself the space of mind to regret anything as Jeremy’s face lights up.  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Absolutely. Right here, right now. All I need is one thing.” Michael smirks before tapping out a text to Rich.  
  
_To: Boy-Bi ___  
  
_Find somewhere better to be ___  
  
……………  
  
“Were the tuxedos really necessary, Michael?” Jeremy asks, picking at the cufflinks on his wrist. No, they most certainly were not. But Jeremy just looks so good in his and…Michael is selfish. Michael is very, very selfish.  
  
“Yes, of course. You need to get the feel of fancy dancing in fancy clothes. It’s what my moms did to me.” Lie. Lie. Lie.  
  
Jeremy huff a sigh. “Okay. Teach away.”  
  
As Michael begins to explain, he closes the window, night already fallen, and pushes the furniture out of the middle of the living room. “A waltz is a basically a square, yeah? So you and your partner will move in one. Like this.” As Michael coaches, he does a small, one man waltz. “Back, side, front, side. Got it?”  
  
“I think so, yeah,” Jeremy says, looking somewhat distracted.  
  
“We’ll get fancy once you have the basics.”  
  
Reaching over to his phone, Michael picks a slower song that he knows both him and Jeremy like, one that in no way reminds him of his love for Jeremy. Nope Nada.  
  
Video Games by Lana Del Ray begins to emit from the speaks as Michael settles one hand on Jeremy’s waits, the other resting on his shoulder. Jeremy mirrors the movement and the two begin to dance, somewhat robotic at first until Jeremy trust Michael enough to lead them smoothly, they sync with each other.  
  
Jeremy isn’t perfect, but he’s mighty good for a beginner. Michael tries not to focus on that curling hair and those beautiful bright eyes that move around the room, casting a blue gaze this way and that.  
  
Nearing the end of the song, when Michael is so lost in his own world of Jeremy that he misses a step. Jeremy’s foot steps on his own, putting light pressure on Michael’s toes.  
  
Michael chuckles, watching Jeremy look down and quickly correct himself. Michael’s heart clenches at the sight, because, wow, Jeremy looks amazing and Michael just loves him so much.  
  
Oh. Jeremy looks up, a wide smile on his face at their little falter. Maybe it’s Michael’s lack of self control, or the way Jeremy looks at him and only him, or maybe just the months of wanting to say it, but the throat that has closed up just kinda opens and he kinda-  
  
“I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaHHHHHHHHH MICHAEL  
> Take that cliffhanger, dudes.   
> Leave some love and so on.


	12. NOT AN UPDATE

Good day, lovelies. So, we seem to have a bit of a dilemma. With the hurricane coming towards my area, I'm in the "Power Outage Nearly Guaranteed" part of the country and I have absolutely no idea how long it will be. If it's anything like the monster storm in January, then I could be gone for almost a month. Obviously I'll still write religiously, but updating is a different story. I guess I'll just go as I can and figure it out. I will be posting a chapter later on tonight, which will be pretty fulfilling, so yeah. 

Thanks!


	13. Chapter 13

No.  
  
Nonononono. Michael freezes, heart lurching into his throat as he immediately regrets everything ever. Backsies, his irrational side yells out. Just call backsies. Please for the love of God call backsies.  
  
Michael grinds his teeth as Jeremy stops dancing altogether, hands jumping off of Michael’s black tuxedo as if Michael’s a lethal poison and, if anything, that hurts Michael the most.  
  
Jeremy’s eyes seem to widen as he turns them to his shoes and the rug under them as the thick silence stretches on. Michael’s clothes feel way too tight on his skin and his body feels confined to it’s shocked, open-mouthed statue of regret. His heartbeat is too loud in his ears and, oh okay, he might just puke if he doesn’t find a way to Bro out of it. As Michael takes a breath, forcing his gaze out the window and into the nothingness, he tries to think of some way—anyway—to get out of this.  
  
In the background, Video Games melts into another song. Michael recognizes it as another Lana Del Ray song, though he isn’t sure which. In all honesty, at the moment, that’s the least of his worries.  
  
Jeremy’s shaking voice shatters whatever words Michael was going to say, splintering through all rational thought as he replies.  
  
“Uh, I love you, too, dude.”  
  
No.  
  
That’s not what Michael means. Of course, Michael can’t help the feeling of aggravation. Praying to whatever's up there that Rich will burst through the door in some dramatic fashion, as usual, Michael wonders if he should just come out with it.  
  
Could he possibly put into words how much he loves the glint of genuine happiness in Jeremy’s eyes, something that had become more and more real since the fall of Eric? How could he fit into the English language how much he wants to go to sleep with Jeremy’s body in his arms and wake up the same way forever? Or that every time Jeremy smiles or says something dumb because, really, the boy has no filter, Michael melts inside?  
  
It isn’t so easy to just come out and say that even Jeremy’s smell is more addictive than any drug, like pine and smoke and gingerbread, and Michael would jump in front a thousand speeding missiles before he ever let anyone hurt Jeremy. Perhaps he could say ‘I love you’ or even ‘I love you more than anything else in the world, so please notice’, but it’d never get the whole tsunami of emotions out like he wants them to. Those words can never express how much he just wants to kiss the life out of that boy and then do it a million more times like they’re dying.  
  
Michael just can’t.  
  
But, hell, he can sure try.  
  
“No, Jeremy,” Michael starts, trying his best to make eye contact with the boy who turns those cerulean eyes up at Michael, not making it any easier on him. “That’s not what I mean.”  
  
“Huh?” Jeremy’s eyebrows furrow, lips parted as he studies Michael. Michael wonders how odd they must look from a third person view. Two grown men in a cleared out living room dressed to the nines staring at each other intensely.  
  
“What I mean is-,” Michael pauses, trying to find out where to start. “Jeremy, I-,”  
  
“Michael?” Jeremy urges, his voice small but unwavering. Michael turns his eyes back down to Jeremy, who looks directly into his eyes. Michael smiles slightly seeing Jeremy and his wide eyes, his splatter of freckles on his face.  
  
God, does Michael love those freckles. He could try and count them or trace them and he’d still be unsatisfied because they’re just so perfect and Jeremy is perfect and-  
  
Now, Michael just has to voice that.  
  
“I meant I love you. I meant you make my life better in every way imaginable and I’ve been so much happier with you here.” Searching for something to start with in terms of his affections, he decides to go one route, trying not to make his voice quake too much. “I really love your eyes, see, because they’re so bright and hopeful. You have this optimism about you, in a way, even with all you’ve been through. The way you talk, the way you use your hands so much and stutter when you get excited or the way there’s this bounce in your step?” Jeremy watches Michael ramble with wide eyes and parted lips.  
  
“God, Jere, your hair is like spider-silk. I’m convinced it’s spun by the hands of angels ‘cause of the way it’s so soft and…And your smile will absolutely light up a room. Even if the room is full of morose little babies, because, somehow, you have that ability.  
  
“And your dorky obsession with Pac Man? I love that. Never let that die. I think a small part of me died, too, when you put on my hoodie two weeks ago. It was just so big on you so it made you look even smaller and—God, I’m rambling—Jeremy, I want to walk beside you in life and I get that you don’t feel the same way, so I’ll try not to make it too awkward.  
  
“I’d be perfectly fine with your name being my cause of death as you kill me slowly with your…you-ness. That thing you do where you tilt you head back when you laugh? Every time you do that, I want to kiss you so hard because, God, Jeremy, to me, you are the literal definition of perfect. I love you so much and-,” Michael just can’t stop, it seems, letting all of his pent-up emotions out through an awful confession. Maybe Michael expects a slap or a harsh wakeup to get him out of his lovely little world, but he doesn’t expect this.  
  
Feeling Jeremy’s fists closed around the fabric near Michael’s chest, Jeremy lifts himself on tiptoe, pressing his lips to Michael’s.  
  
The world stops. Then starts again. It shuts off once more as Michael feels Jeremy’s balled fists shaking. The kiss isn’t awful in the slightest, maybe a bit stiff, but Michael can’t help that his initial response is shock, so he freezes.  
  
Jeremy must feel this, because he instantly backs away, sucking in a breath and beginning to apologize profusely, a bright red staining his cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Michael, I really am, I didn’t mean-,”  
  
Interrupting Jeremy’s nervous sputter, Michael shakes off his shock, feeling the heat rise up to his face at the realization of what just happened. He lifts both of his hands to cup Jeremy’s face, thumbs brushing lightly against the soft skin under his eyes. Michael looks at Jeremy with a question in his eyes.  
  
“Jere?”  
  
Jeremy replies with a small nod, exhaling a bit as Michael pulls his face closer, bending down to meet the boy, fitting his lips to Jeremy’s. Unlike the first kiss, this one isn’t as stiff. It comes to Michael’s attention as they move in sync that Jeremy is a lot better at this than Michael, having had Eric for a bit less than a year.  
  
Jeremy smiles slightly into the kiss as Michael’s left-hand moves to rest on the nape of Jeremy’s neck, fingers curling into his hair. Jeremy’s arms raise and loop around Michael’s neck as he pulls him closer.  
  
Perhaps the kiss is a bit messy, as Michael has no idea what he’s doing, but it’s absolutely perfect. Michael’s “Jeremy Perfections” list seems to continually get longer.  
  
In need of breath, Michael pulls away, keeping his hands in place. He pants, eyes locked on Jeremy’s, which are crinkled with the hint of a smile.  
  
“So,” Michael breathes, “I take it you get the basics? Because I’d prefer to do this in regular clothes.”  
  
Jeremy just smiles, leaning in to press his forehead to Michael’s. “The tuxedos weren’t needed, were they?”  
  
“Absolutely not.”  
  
They laugh as Old Money fades out in the background.  
  
…….  
  
In the end, they had gotten into sweatpants and random (probably dirty) t-shirts. They sit on the couch, hips touching as they keep their heads turned to each other.  
  
“So,” Michael says quietly, the first word said since they departed to get dressed.  
  
“So,” Jeremy agrees, studying Michael.  
  
“I, uh, don’t wanna assume anything but…you do feel the same?”  
  
Jeremy lets out a breathy laugh, eyes finding Michael’s. “Do I feel the same? Michael, I’ve been absolutely head over heels for you since after Eric. Probably sooner and I was just blinded.” He looks down, smiling at his Star Wars shirt that’s about a size too big. “I love you. I do. I love that thing where you bite the tip of your tongue when you laugh at something,” he starts, letting out a small laugh. “I love your stupid dad jokes and how you’re like a really nice Gordon Ramsey. How does one even MAKE scrambled eggs that good?”  
  
Michael smiles, rubbing the back of his neck as Jeremy looks up with the world in his eyes. “I love how you chase away the voices on my bad days and somehow know all of the best coping methods. Oh, and those awesome tiger stripes you have?” Michael instinctually goes to run his hand along the bottom of his stomach where his stretch marks are. “Those are absolutely the best things ever. And how do you look hotter than Leonardo DiCaprio in his Titanic era when you wake up?”  
  
Realizing his words, Jeremy looks down again, chuckling. At long last, h looks up, a more serious feel in his eyes. “You yanked me off of a dark road I was going down, fearing that it’d be like that for the rest of my life. Now, I’ll pass by the bathroom and hear you sing in the shower and…and I find myself hoping that that’s permanent. That I’ll be able to wake up and know I’m safe and that you’re near…forever.”  
  
Michael feels tears threatening to spill as Jeremy pours his heart out, laying everything out before Michael.  
  
Michael decides to run with it.  
  
“Jeremy, I love you more than anything. That includes your dark parts and what you had to go through, that especially includes every insecurity I know about. More so the ones I don’t. I love you in your entirety, you perfect, perfect human. I’ll always be here for you, mahal ko.” With that, he leans forward, kissing Jeremy with his entire soul, hands raking through the soft locks of Jeremy’s hair. Jeremy’s slightly clammy hand rests just above Michael’s pulse point, fingers tracing the outside of Michael’s jaw.  
  
Pulling back, Michael grins, leaning into Jeremy’s thin form and wrapping his arms around him.  
  
“Oh?” Jeremy says with a hint of a smirk before tackling Michael, pushing him onto his back and laying on top of him, arms locked around him.  
  
They both laugh, the glorious sound filling the apartment as Jeremy presses a small kiss to Michael’s neck. Michael shivers at the feeling of warm breath against his skin and Jeremy says quietly,  
  
“Mahal Kita, Michael.”  
  
Oh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it isn't obvious, I have no idea how actual kissing works and I am an unsocial, awkward idiot that's never kissed anyone, so just pretend that's how it goes.  
> Also:  
> Mahal Ko= My love  
> Mahal Kita= I love you  
> My reasoning for having the "oh" at the end was either Jeremy knowing full well what mahal kita meant from the beginning, or finding out and deciding it applies anyway and leaving it be.  
> Thank you so much to everyone that commented on my update-that-wasn't-an-update. I really appreciate it!  
> Prayers/thoughts for my fellow peeps in the path/already affected by Irma  
> (Or anything that's going on right now for that matter. 2017??? Wyd???)


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few starting orders of business.  
> 1\. TRIGGER WARNING: Some pretty intense verbal abuse in the very beginning. It's just a dream and you don't really miss anything at all, so if you don't want to read it, please don't. Stay safe. It's everything in italics (and up to the little dot separation things because the formatting is literally killing me)  
> 2\. In case any were wondering, we fared a-okay during the hurricane with no major damage. What sucked though, was being outside all day the next day cleaning up the hundreds of fallen limbs.  
> 3\. These are just some cute/funny scenarios. Plot can wait. Let these boys live a little.

_**It’s for your own good, Jeremiah.**_  
  
_**If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t.**_  
  
_**If you didn’t have me, nobody would.**_  
  
_**You’re lucky I’m here, Jeremy, because.**_  
  
_Shut up. Shut up, shut up, shut up. Jeremy staggers backwards, going to clap his hands over his ears. The phrases were too familiar, an old constant that he wrongly got used to._  
  
_Michael sneers, eyes filled with hatred. Are they his though? Michael doesn’t have electric blue eyes like Eric does---oh._  
  
_**If you think for a second that Michael or Christine or any of them like you, then you’re sorely mistaken, Jeremy. You’re just a nuisance. Are you sure they’re your friends? To me, it looks like they’re just your babysitters, you worthless piece of self-centered trash.  
  
** Jeremy limps backwards, cradling his bruised wrists to his chest. Where is he? He takes his eyes off of Michael, who stalks closer, to examine his surroundings. Jeremy senses the bed before the backs of his calves hit it, losing his footing and falling onto the mattress, instinctually curling up into a ball.  
  
Worthless. Terrible. Disgusting. The way you excessively compliment people? Annoying. The way you push your problems on other people?  
  
_But I don’t-_ **  
  
_**But you do, Jeremy. Your laugh is wretched, your acne scars are awful, and your jokes make no sense. I’d be surprised if you ever found someone who loves you. Nobody but me, because I’m the only person capable of loving you. Maybe my standards are just so low that I’ll stoop and use you.**_  
  
**_Michael snickers, pushing the sleeves of his hoodie and-_ **  
  
_**Disgusting. Disgusting. Disgusting. Disgusting. Disgusting. Dis-**_  
  
**_And the blue leaves his eyes, the rich brown returning as his expression immediately softens. Jeremy gains his wits, scuttling backwards until his head taps against the head of the bed. Michael scrunches his brows, shaking his head quickly. “Jeremy,” he calls, his voice gentle, empty of the malice that once colored his tone. “I’m right here.”_  
  
_“I know,” Jeremy whimpers, sinking back into the pillows._  
  
_“Jeremy, I’d never leave you.”_  
  
_Everyone will leave you._  
  
_Jeremy says just that, muttering the words with the fear a lost child, hands shaking and they slip closer to his body._  
  
_“No, Jeremy,” Michael insists. “You got used to that mindset. Degrading isn’t normal in love. Let me just help you. I love_ ** _ **(loathe)** _**_you more than anything, Jeremy, you gotta know that. You’re amazing_ ** _**(awful)** _**_and I’ll always be here for you.”_ **  
  
**_The silence stretches on and Michael eyes Jeremy, pleading, as Jeremy loosens up._  
  
_“Michael?”_  
  
_“Yeah, Jere?”_  
  
_“Eric said the same thing at first.”_  
**  
**_ ………………………………..  
  
Jeremy isn’t sure what wakes him up first, the heat or the feeling of a body pressed against him. An arm is draped over his waist and his face is buried into a neck.  
  
A surge of panic runs through Jeremy’s veins as he wonders-  
  
Nope. He’s still dressed. We’re good.  
  
Oh, right. And he slept in Michael’s bed. The details from the previous night rush into his head, how he went against every logical thought and kissed Michael.  
  
Holy hell.  
  
He kissed Michael. If thinking that doesn’t feel like the best thing ever, then Jeremy isn’t sure what is. Jeremy. Heere. Kissed. Michael. Mell. Hell yeah.  
  
Jeremy pulls back a bit, ignoring the sweat glistening on Michael’s skin, warmth blossoming in his chest. Dream disregarded, he admires his—friend? Boyfriend? --- his Michael, the warm mocha skin, the soft lips that feel like heaven against his, the dark eyelashes and messy hair.  
  
Wow, that hair. Michael’s bedhead is glorious, dark locks spread against the pillow that smells so much like Michael that it hurts, Jeremy’s insides curling at the smell of what he soon associated with as home. The early morning sun that shines through the blinds, creating bright lines on Michael perfect, perfect, perfect face.  
  
Instinctively, Jeremy reaches up, eyes dazed as he stares, fingers carding through Michael’s dark hair.  
  
Lost in his own actions, Jeremy doesn’t notice Michael wake up, chocolate eyes fluttering open and landing on Jeremy’s slack face.  
  
Jeremy’s fingers come to a shuddering halt as a hand comes up to his, grabbing it and bringing it to Michael’s lips, placing a chaste kiss on Jeremy’s knuckles.  
  
“Good morning,” Michael rasps, voice scratchy from lack of use. Jeremy give him a close-lipped smile, total adoration in his eyes.  
  
“Mhm,” Jeremy hums, arms ducking under the covers to wrap around Michael’s torso.  
  
Ask him on a proper date, a voice inside him insists, one that sounds particularly like Christine.  
  
Jeremy sighs against Michael’s soft t-shirt, feeling Michael’s chin resting on his head. “Micah?” Ear against Michael’s chest, Jeremy hears the soft quickening of Michael’s heartbeat, mentally making a note to only call Michael that.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
Ignoring the comforting rumbling of Michael’s chest, Jeremy works up every bit of courage he can muster, pulling back and biting his lip nervously. “So, uh, I was wondering if you…Well, Christine has a play tomorrow night and I know theatre isn’t really your thing, so you totally don’t have to come, but I just thought that-,”  
  
“Jeremy?” Michael asks with a sweet smile, propping himself on an elbow.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“I’d love to go to the theater with you.”  
  
Jeremy practically sighs with relief, pushing himself up as Michael leans in for a gentle kiss, fingers tracing patterns onto Jeremy’s neck, sending shivers down his spine as he meets the kiss eagerly.  
  
As Jeremy pulls back smiling, Michael’s eyes brighten with childish wonder. “So, what’s the play about.”  
  
Jeremy huffs a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s definitely out there. You know Midsummer Night’s Dream? The Shakespeare thingy?” At Michael’s nod, Jeremy continues. “It’s like a zombie apocalypse twist on that, I think.”  
  
Michael grins, squinting his eyes. “Brilliant. Theater in its finest.”  
  
“I think you’re talking about Shrek the Musical. That thing is just one giant meme.”  
  
Jeremy pulls back, noticing hollow silence outside their—Michael’s. It’s Michael’s—room. “Micah?” Jeremy asks lowly, careful not to raise his voice above a whisper. “How long do you think Rich’s been standing outside the door?”  
  
Michael considers this, running a hand through his perfect hair and scanning the room. He smirks, turning back to Jeremy and presses a finger to his lips.  
  
Jeremy cocks his head in confusion, mirroring the gesture himself. Michael’s smirk grows as he leans his head back and…well…utterly shocks Jeremy.  
  
“Oh, God, Jeremy!” Michael moans at the top of his lungs, rough and ragged and Jeremy has to detach himself from reality. He tries to go to his happy place, but that might just become his new happy place.  
  
“Jesus Christ,” Jeremy laughs, burying his face into his arms as Michael fights back his laughs.  
  
Across the room, the door slams open, hitting the wall with lethal force. Rich stands in the doorway, stance wide and a hand placed in front of his eyes. He marches in, pointing in the general direction of the bed.  
  
“I KNEW IT,” he yells with playful ferocity. “I SO TOTALLY KNEW IT.”  
  
“Rich? Darling?” Michael calls from the bed, leaning his elbows on his crossed legs. “Wanna open your eyes?”  
  
“Wuh?” Rich’s hand lowers slightly as he eyes Jeremy and Michael, looking as innocent as ever.  
  
“Hi,” Jeremy grins.  
  
………  
  
( I guess another POV change. Consistency? Who’s she? Never heard of her.)  
  
“Oh, Rich, where were you last night? You never came home?” Michael asks, glancing up from his phone as Rich pours artificial lemonade in a glass.  
  
Rich chuckles, walking slowly over to Michael. “I was with Jake.” Something in his voice, though, suggests that they didn’t just sit around and play patty cake. “Yo, buddy, do you remember when I had to hustle pool to get money when I had just graduated?”  
  
“Yeah?” Michael asks, ignoring Jeremy’s shocked expression.  
  
Rich laughs, more to himself than anything. “It’s a good thing I still rock at pool.”  
  
……………………….  
  
“I’ont get it, man,” Jeremy slurs, waving his arms in large circles. Michael smirks from his chair, downing another gulp of the alcohol and cringing at the burning on the way down. He himself was more of a ‘girly drink’ kinda dude, though he didn’t understand how you could assign a gender to a liquid. Quite stupid, society. “Really? Nothin?”  
  
“Nada,” Michael laughs, crossing his arms. Rich had broken out the ‘fancy’ liquor in celebration of Jeremy and Michael ‘finally’ getting together. To Michael’s surprise, Jeremy is the world’s biggest lightweight. It’s almost funny, really. Michael had the same amount of shots as Jeremy and feels pretty okay, which is something that Jeremy can’t wrap his brain around.  
  
Rich snorts, propping his legs up on the table. “Dude, Mikey is the bomb. He could down this whole thing of Crown and still pass a sobriety test.”  
  
Jeremy turns wide eyes to Michael, drawing in a large, slightly unnecessary gasp.  
  
“Guilty,” Michael shrugs, smiling lightly.  
  
“Respectable,” Jeremy says in awe, or at least tries too. It ends up coming out sounding like ‘respedable’. Thanking his lucky stars that they decided to drink at home instead of some bar, Michael doesn’t have to worry about being the DD, or getting two drunk babies home, so he decides to enjoy it, asking daunting question after question, getting equally hilarious responses every time.  
  
As the night drags on into the 1 am hour, Jeremy had taken to sitting in Michael’s lap, facing him with flushed cheeks and blown pupils. He gives Michael a toothy grin, leaning in to give him a kiss, which tastes like alcohol. Jeremy grins into it, loosely wrapping his arms around Michael’s neck as he deepens the kiss.  
  
“Ewwww,” Rich whines. “Get a room.” Jeremy seems to like that idea, as his face lights up and he shoots off of Michael’s legs, looking mighty eager. Michael grabs his wrist and yanks him back down, chuckling at Jeremy’s betrayed look.  
  
“Nope,” Michael says with a smug look. “Not doing anything else with you this drunk, Jere.”  
  
“Aw man,” Jeremy pouts, before tightening his grip on Michael and nuzzling his cheek against the warm skin. Michael sighs, hands running up and down Jeremy’s back as Jeremy mumbles into his ear, “I love you.”  
  
“I love you, too, Miah.” Michael says, voice softening so only Jeremy can hear. Michael shifts, turning his head to kiss Jeremy, but, admittedly, overshoots it, landing his lips on Jeremy’s chin.  
  
Jeremy leans back, barking out a loud laugh. “Micah can’t kiss!” He yells, the words slurring together.  
  
“Shut up, nerd. Yes, I can,” Michael laughs, shooting Rich a ‘help me’ look.  
  
“Nope,” Jeremy sings, looking over at Rich with a toothy grin. “Richie, guess wha’?”  
  
Rich and Michael share a parental look before Rich turns to Jeremy, propping both fists on his chin. “Yes, Jeremy?”  
  
“My boyfriend can’t kiss!” Jeremy announces as Michael’s heartbeat spikes. Going by the blood that rushes to his face, and the warmth in his chest, Michael decides he could listen to Jeremy call him his boyfriend like a song on repeat.  
  
Michael pushes aside those thoughts, a new mission on his mind as he goes to gently grab Jeremy’s jaw.  
  
“How about I prove you wrong?”  
  
………………..  
  
Michael sighs, wiping the sleep away from his eyes as he pads into the kitchen, frowning at the clock announcing that he had slept until only noon. Step up your game, Mikey.  
  
His eyes fall on Jeremy, who sits slumped in a chair, face buried in his arms, groaning lightly. Michael laughs in spite of the situation. “Hangover much?” He keeps his voice low, but not low enough apparently, as Jeremy makes a seething noise, shrinking more into his arms.  
  
“Shut up,” he grumbles.  
  
Michael opens up the cabinet above the sink. “Aspirin?”  
  
“Had some,” says the voice from behind him. Michael sighs, turning around and going into father-mode, walking over to his—Boyfriend? Let’s go with that for now.  
  
“It’s kinda your own fault Jere-bear. You did get drunk off your head last night.”  
  
“Shut. Up.” Jeremy’s voice is a half-hearted growl. Michael chuckles, hand coming to rest in Jeremy’s hair as he presses a small kiss to Jeremy’s forehead.  
  
“Food?”  
  
Silence.  
  
“Eggs?”  
  
Silence.

  
“Come on, Jeremy, you gotta eat. Plus, eggs are supposed to help with hangovers.”  
  
Jeremy lets out an exasperated sigh, lifting his head to look at Michael through squinted eyes, the whites tinted red. “Fine.”  
  
Deciding to be the little antagonist he is, Michael smirks, crouching and rifling through one of the cabinets to find a pan. With a loud bang, he sets it on the counter, scaring Jeremy into jumping and letting out a shrill scream, which basically causes him to spit out a string of colorful curses, curling up into a ball on the floor.  
  
Chuckling, Michael grabs the carton of eggs from the fridge. “You good, Jeremy?”  
  
“Go to hell.”  
  
“With this level of gayness? Westboro Baptist says so.”  
  
………………..  
  
“Micah?” Jeremy asks softly, looking up from his phone. His hangover had eventually worn off and the two would have to get dressed out of their ‘trashy clothes’ and make their way to the theater soon if they wanted to make it to Christine’s show in time.  
  
“Yeah?” Michael looks up, blinking in the sunlight and focusing in on Jeremy.  
  
“Are we dating?”  
  
Michael suppresses the dopey smile and fluttering heartbeat as Jeremy fiddles with his phone nervously. “Do you want to?”  
  
“Absolutely.”  
  
Michael grins, showing teeth. “Then we are.”  
  
…………………  
  
The lights come up and Michael blinks furiously, getting used to the bulbs’ lights. The curtain had closed, Christine and the rest of the cast having done their bows. Maybe the idea of the play was a bit confusing, and Christine was really the only good person in the play, but it was great. Okay, maybe his opinion is slightly biased because A) his friend was the lead and B) his boyfriend’s hand was tucked in his the entire time.  
  
Boyfriend. Yes, this new development that turned pining into actually dating. It still causes his chest to tighten and his lips to curl upwards even thinking about how he went from a love-struck idiot, to a love-struck idiot with a boyfriend. Lucky him, huh?  
  
Beside Michael, Jeremy turns in his seat, smiling wide and Michael’s breath hitches. The lights cast shadows of his hair onto his face and the black shirt he wears brings out his eyes and…  
  
His eyes. Michael might cry here and now if he focuses on it too much, but he can’t help but notice the…realness of the smile, the light in his eyes shaded by nothing. Not an ounce of the sadness and hopelessness that ruled over him for so long is shown in his eyes that are genuinely happy. It strikes Michael in an odd way, bringing him back to the night he…met Eric. That night when he sat in front of Rich’s bed and told Jeremy that he’d try.  
  
Try means fail.  
  
That he would bring light back.  
  
_“You’re so strong, Jeremy. We’ll get through this. You’ll be okay. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, and that’s fine, but someday, you will be okay. You will be happy. God, Jeremy, you deserve to be happy. I swear it. I swear on my life, Jeremy, I could never leave you. Ever.”_  
  
Looking at Jeremy now, Michael begins to think that maybe he was right.  
  
……..  
  
“Come on,” Jeremy urges, dragging Michael backstage where Christine told them to meet her. A majority of the audience had left, but a few stragglers stood in their way, as well as a few members of the ensemble milling around, complimenting one another’s performance.  
  
Jeremy shoulders the door of Christine’s dressing room open, jazz hands-ing as Christine whirls around, a wide smile on her face. Michael watches as Christine leaps into Jeremy’s arms, both of them disregarding that Christine has on a twenty-pound Shakespearian era dress covered in fake blood, slime, and sweat.  
  
Michael remembers for a split second when he thought that the two would make a good couple, when he let the jealous thoughts rage. This, of course, was before Jeremy recounted the time when him and Christine dated. It happened in senior year, just at the beginning of the second semester. They had been best friends for years, so it was kind of bound to happen eventually. Laughing, Jeremy told Michael about how the fling had lasted a good week and a half before they called it off.  
  
Christine pulls back, shaking her head, letting the black strands fall. “I don’t get it, Jeremy. You find a way to come to all of my plays. @ God? What did I do to deserve Jeremiah Heere as my best friend?”  
  
Jeremy laughs, backing away and taking his place at Michael’s side, grasping his hand. Michael feels the slight clamminess of Jeremy’s hand, something that Jeremy had voiced several times that he hated, but Michael couldn’t help but love. It was a part of Jeremy. How the hell could it be a flaw?  
  
Christine seems to notice the touch, as her eyes fly wide and she points to their conjoined hand. “Okay, that’s new.”  
  
Jeremy chuckle, tightening his grip and pulling their hands up so that Christine can see clearly. “Yeah,” he says with a smile. “Christine? My boyfriend Michael.”  
  
Christine lets out a loud cheer and Michael blushes red as she yells, “Finally!”  
  
Is that just the common thought amongst their friends?  
  
She grins, walking closer and going to hug Michael. Or, at least, that’s what Michael thinks she tries to do. In reality, she leans in, mouth close to Michael’s ear.  
  
“Hurt him like Eric did and you won’t ever see the light of day,” she threatens, her voice unusually dark, quiet enough that Jeremy doesn’t hear. Heere. Haha.  
  
Christine pulls back, close-lipped smile suggesting she said something very different from what she actually uttered. The threat remains in her eyes, though, and her bloodied exterior really just makes it even scarier. As amazing and genuine as she is, Hell hath no fury like a Christine scorned.  
  
“I’d never,” Michael whispers, more sure of that statement than anything else.  
  
“I know,” Christine replies.  
  
…………….  
  
“Are you sure they aren’t gonna close soon?” Michael asks, squeezing Jeremy’s hand.  
  
“Absolutely,” Jeremy assures Michael as they walk from the parked PT Cruiser to Pink Berry, the frozen yogurt shop that Brooke and Chloe owned.  
  
As they approach the glass doors, Michael takes note of the times printed. The store would close at 11, which is—what—five? Ten minutes from now?  
  
Ignoring this, Jeremy pushes the door open, walking into the place like he owns it. His shoes tap against the bright tiles. At the sounds of the bell, Brooke waltzes out from the back, straightening her hat, which is literally the only thing straight about her.  
  
“Hello, how can I help you,” she smiles, before noticing who it is. Brooke brightens, waving excitedly. “Jeremy! Michael! How are you?”  
  
“Oh, hell, no,” Chloe scoffs, joining Brooke.  
  
“Love you too, Valentine,” Michael retorts, crossing his arms with a playful, teasing smile.  
  
…………………  
  
“Okay, but, unpopular opinion…starburst candies suck,” Jeremy says, twirling his spoon before dipping it into his cup and spooning some chocolate frozen yogurt into his mouth.  
  
“We can’t date anymore,” Michael says, struggling to keep a straight face before stuffing some Hawaiian Mango onto his tongue.  
  
Silence continues, filled with satisfied eating. Across the room, behind the counter, Chloe crosses her arms. “Are they ever gonna leave?” she whispers to her girlfriend.  
  
“Oh, hush,” Brook laughs, swatting Chloe’s arm. She instantly freezes up, eyes flying wide. “You recorded the new Riverdale episode, right? Please tell me you did.”  
  
“Naturally,” Chloe scoffs.  
  
Back with the boys, Jeremy throws his spoon down in a rage, surprising Michael into dropping his own. “What?” He asks quickly. “What is it?”  
  
“I’m tired of watching the glory from afar,” Jeremy says with a hint of melodrama, bracing his hands on the table.  
  
“What?”  
  
“It’s like watching people drink pumpkin spice lattes and never trying it,” Jeremy goes on, lips forming a slight, unintentional pout.  
  
“Care to elaborate?”  
  
“It’s time I fixed this,” Jeremy says, more to himself than anything.  
  
“Fixed…what?”  
  
“Help me sign up on Tumblr.”  
  
Michael promptly lets out a cackle, tipping his head back as he laughs, trying to understand the randomness of Jeremy’s words. Michael knew Jeremy didn’t have a Tumblr, but didn’t ever really think Jeremy would want one.  
  
“Okay then,” he says once his laughter is calmed down a bit.  
  
Within moments, they had the app downloaded on Jeremy’s phone, account set up under the handle @supernaturalass-butt, preferences set up and everything.  
  
Jeremy presses a hand to his chest, relieved that the suffering can end. “I thank you, my knight in shining armor.”  
  
Michael chuckles softly, handing Jeremy his phone back before grabbing his hand and kissing it in a noble manner.  
  
“Of course, Mr. Heere, my love.”  
  
“Gay,” Chloe calls from a table over where she wipes down the surface.  
  
Jeremy turns his head, lifting an eyebrow at her. “Duh.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gayyy  
> yeah, Jeremy's tumblr actually belongs to the best human ever, my best friend. Shameless bff promo right there.  
> Formatting. Sucks. Just pretend that the whole dream at the beginning is in italics, okay? I tried to make it so that everything said that was Eric-influenced was in bold but that. Just. Didn't. Work.  
> I high-key hated this chapter. Very stiff and unnecessary personal venting at the beginning whoops  
> As always, you dudes are amazing!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is N E R V O U S and Jordyn is awesome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be prepared for some cringe-worthy verbal text talk.

“Oh my god,” Michael breathes, staring in awe at the object in his hands.  
  
“Hurry up and open it,” Rich growls, bouncing with anticipation. Jeremy stays silent, lips pressed together and eyes wide, watching closely as Michael drags the knife along the top of the box. It had come in the mail, suspiciously book-sized with a letter from his editor taped on top.  
  
Michael,  
  
_I’m so proud of you, of this book, and the man you’ve become. I remember when you were just a little boy trying to get good at skateboarding. (Sorry, dude, you could have been a legit Tony Hawk if my fat self didn’t break it.) To see you go from a small, nervous teenager with a vendetta against country music to a young man with an (almost) published book, a boyfriend, and a lingering vendetta against country music is…well, Mikey, it’s surreal. I guess some things never change. I’m so excited to see you and your moms (and Jeremy. You can’t get out of me meeting him. Sorry bud. I’ll try not to scare him too bad). Anyway, here’s your own printed copy of Be More Chill.  
  
Love you, babe.  
  
-Jordyn _  
  
Michael had read it quickly, then once more as tears prickled in his eyes. He was truly excited to see Jordyn again, as he hadn’t seen her since she left for college when Michael was in 8th grade.  
  
Michael bites his lip, trying to ease his nerves as he folds the cardboard back, revealing a paperback book wrapped in tissue paper.  
  
A collective gasp fills the room as Michael wraps his fingers around the book, shedding the paper and staring at it in quiet awe. The cover is…brilliant to say the least and Michael thanks his lucky stars that his illustrator was so amazing. The cover shows the outline of a boy, surrounded by a variety of different words that hold significance. Michael remembers holding a Skype call with the illustrator that had taken the job. What was her name? Bailey? It was something close to that. Maybe Bentley?  
  
She had sandy blonde hair and a huge smile as he tried and failed to explain what he wanted. “It’s just…like…you know?”  
  
Bentley had grimaced slightly, opening her mouth to speak. “Not really?”  
  
“How about I just email you the manuscript?”  
  
“Perfect.”  
  
Back to the matter at hand, Michael gulps, tracing a finger along the spine. Okay. Wow. Still, the excitement sinks in and the shock decreases as he finally reads the front.  
  
Be More Chill: By Michael Mell  
  
Great, now he’s crying. Rich claps him on the back with a loud “Dude!”. Michael cradles the book to his chest, biting his lip hard as he holds back sobs.  
  
Instantly, Jeremy leans forward, worry clear on his features. “Do you not like it?”  
  
“No,” Michael chokes out, holding the object tighter. “I love it. I love it so much.”  
  
Jeremy and Rich sag with relief, something that Michael doesn’t see as he sighs, smiling through the glassy tears in his eyes at the book, flipping it open and thumbing through the thin pages as a blur of words passes. Feeling himself calm down a bit, he looks up at Jeremy and Rich, a watery smile on his lips.  
  
“Guys,” he whispers, swallowing thickly. “I did it.”  
  
………………………………..  
  
Mell-from-hell to H.O.M.I.E.S  
  
Alright beaches__

_____ _

Mell-from-hell to H.O.M.I.E.S  
  
Plan for tomorrow:  
  
1\. Meet for brunch at that hippie café on the corner of Fussell and Beatey.  
  
2\. Part ways and pretend we won’t be heading to my inevitable death

Mell-from-hell to H.O.M.I.E.S  
  
3\. Head to my inevitable death.  
  
…………………….  
  
Michael hugs his arms to his chest, picking at the fabric of his Star Trek shirt. He casts a sidelong glance at the clock, basically screaming at him to get to bed so he isn’t a zombie for his book release. He debates for a split second if dark circles would look odd at his release party.  
  
As he reaches for the remote, almost pressing the button to skip to the next episode, Michael imagines what his mothers would say if they saw his evident lack of sleep. Not wanting to start World War 3, Michael quickly shuts the tv off.  
  
Jeremy rolls over in his sleep, Michael having asked him to sleep in his bed that night. Book release jitters, he called it, which isn’t a lie at all. He still feels the churning in his stomach at every thought of the next night, of the people, of the press Jordyn had alerted, all of it.  
  
So, maybe it was a valid truth. Michael needs to calm down and that’s just what Jeremy has the power to do. Even his presence calms the constant buzzing in his head, softening it greatly.  
  
Michael squints through the darkness, eyes skating over the delicate features of Jeremy’s face. There’s a light smile on his lips and his eyeballs shift under his eyelids. Michael hopes he’s having a good dream, no matter how rare that may be for Jeremy. Jeremy might think that Michael is asleep every time he wakes up sobbing, shivering and holding himself until he can calm down, but it’s a lie. It kills him every time he pretends to sleep, ignoring the wretched cries. All he wants to do is sit up and wrap his arms around Jeremy, let him know that everything is okay and that he’s safe because obviously, Michael knows what they’re all about.  
  
He just can’t. He only sat up with Jeremy once, a few nights after the whole confession things, and still regrets doing it. In Jeremy’s clouded mind, he instantly jumped back from Michael’s touch, shaking his head violently as Michael darted back. Putt  
  
“Weak,” Jeremy had whispered to himself. Michael shudders at the way the word feels every time he thinks of it. No, Jeremy, it isn’t a weakness. No, Jeremy, your fear is valid. Please, Jeremy, just let me in. Please.  
  
Yeah, maybe Michael does need sleep. He sighs, laying down and pulling the blankets over him, ignoring the persistent heat of middle August. Michael turns, studying Jeremy’s sleeping face for a few more seconds like the creep he is and shakes his head slightly, rolling over and letting the darkness take him.  
  
…………………  
  
Michael winces as the covers are thrown off of him harshly, his mostly-bare legs going cold. He cracks his eyes open, blinking out the pain of the sun shining through the blinds and hears Rich’s loud yell. “Up and at ‘em, author boy. You got a big day and you already missed brunch.”  
  
Ugh.  
  
Michael frowns at Rich, and then at Jeremy who chuckles behind the short boy. “You let him bully me this way?” He asks, mock betrayal coloring his tone.  
  
“Sorry,” Jeremy shrugs, a hint of a smile on his lips. “He does have a point. We told the group we’d be at that café in 20 minutes, which was…,” He pauses, looking down at his bare wrist and then proceeding to yank Rich’s wrist towards his face. “Three minutes ago.”  
  
“That’s Jeremy talk for?”  
  
“Get up.”  
  
“Ughhhhh.”  
  
…………………  
  
“So, then, I was like—Oh, thanks,” Chloe says, accepting her refill from the waiter, an elderly man with a sturdy build and kind smile.  
  
Michael reaches forward, taking a bite of his club sandwich and setting it down, turning to face Rich. “Yo, opinion,” he says, taking a sip from his diet coke.  
  
“Hit me, Hufflepuff,’ Rich laughs, turning from Jake with a smile.  
  
“We showing up in the Cruiser? Like, tonight?” Michael fiddles with his straw, twirling it in his fingers. Rich seems to consider the question.  
  
“Sure, man. I mean, it’s not like you need a limo, right?”  
  
“Right,” Michael agrees, nodding to himself before returning to his sandwich. Across from him, Jenna crinkles her nose, looking up from her phone.  
  
“Um, guys? Did you hear about Madeline?” At the silence that greets her question, Jenna takes It as a cue to go on. “Well, she apparently lied about being from France and knowing Indila personally.”  
  
“Isn’t…isn’t this old news?” Rich asks, arm lingering on Jake’s. Jake smiles gently at the hand before looking at Jeremy, who sighs.  
  
“Smh,” Michael mutters, doing just that as he leans back in his seat, which creaks slightly at the added weight. Jeremy cocks his head, scrunching up his face in thought.  
  
“Why would you say that?”  
  
Michael blinks, ignoring the confused looks from everyone else. “Jeremy, what do you think ‘smh’ means?”  
  
“Suck my hands,” Jeremy states with the confidence of a Cheetah girl, which wanes considerably when Michael promptly leans forward, sucking in a breath at his boyfriend’s answer. Brooke snorts as Michael cackles, head thrown back.  
  
Basically, everyone but poor, clueless Jeremy is in hysterics.  
  
“Guys?” Jeremy asks meekly. “Guys, what does it mean?”  
  
Seeming to be able to breathe once more, Michael is able to choke out a few words. “Jeremy,” he says, still catching his breath. “Jeremy Heere, love of my life, darling, ‘smh’ means ‘shaking my head’.”  
  
Michael seems to cool down a bit, wiping a stray tear from his eye as Jeremy flushes red with embarrassment. Michael exhales slowly, calming himself down and muttering under his breath once more, “Suck my hands.”  
  
Chloe pics her fork up once more. “Okay, okay, but are we going to ignore the fact that Michael used text talk in a verbal conversation?”  
  
“Obviously not,” Rich grins, turning with a playful smirk to Michael.  
  
“Oh, no.”  
  
………………  
  
“I wanna drive!” Jeremy announces, not giving Michael the chance to answer as he wrenches the driver’s door open and leaps into the seat.  
  
“Okay,” Michael mutters, chuckling a bit at the spontaneous decision as he slides into the passenger’s side. He produces to keys to his car, making a show of handing them to Jeremy ceremoniously. “Any reason why?”  
  
“You seem nervous, and-,”  
  
“Seem?” Michael asks with a lifted eyebrow as Jeremy sticks the key into the ignition and turns it, bringing the car to life.  
  
“You are nervous,” Jeremy corrects himself, “and I wanted to make a stop before we went home.”  
  
Michael’s heart warms just a bit at the sound of Jeremy calling the apartment ‘home’ so casually, so fondly. He stays silent for a little while as Jeremy pulls out of the café parking lot, before another thought comes to mind.  
  
“A stop, hm?” Michael inquires, noting the way Jeremy is driving in the opposite direction of the apartment.  
  
“Yup,” Jeremy smiles, stopping at a red light and looking over at Michael lovingly. Deciding to wait and find out where they’re going, Michal turns up the radio, flipping through channel after channel before settling on slipping in a cd of his own making.  
  
The disk itself was labeled ‘Show Jeremy’, which he had done so about a week prior. Jeremy noticed the first song being played and smiles, turning it up even more.  
  
Eventually, Michael begins to sing.  
  
_But I’m weak,  
  
And what’s wrong with that?  
  
Boy, oh, boy I love it when I fall for that. _  
  
Michael leans his head back, belting the lyrics with everything he’s got, ignoring the odd looks from strangers at red lights. He is about to continue singing when he hears something else.  
  
_I’m weak,  
  
And what’s wrong with that?  
  
Boy, oh, boy I love it when I fall for that. _  
  
Jeremy’s singing.  
  
It might not be as loud as Michael’s voice was, but his lips are upturned as he studies the road, trying not to hit pedestrians as he laughs, carrying on with the song.  
  
Jeremy’s voice is a subtle wonder, something innocently beautiful that you could listen to for hours. Something not too much unlike Jeremy. Jeremy lets the words tumble out of his mouth, pouring his heart into the meaning, which is something that Michael seems to catch onto once Jeremy looks at him with a huge smile and soft eyes. Michael proceeds to have trouble catching his breath, gaining any control of his actions at all as he stares gaping at Jeremy’s beautiful face holding an expression of freedom and peace.  
  
God, Michael loves him.  
  
……..  
  
Near the end of the third or fourth song, Michael lights up, noticing Jeremy turn into the parking lot of 7/11.  
  
“Really?” He chirps, grinning wide.  
  
“Yeah. My treat. You seem like you need to calm your nerves.” Michael’s hands fly from the pockets of his famous red hoodie and he wraps his arms around Jeremy, squeezing tight as he showers him with thanks.  
  
Michael almost squeals, skipping into the store where the cashier looks at this through narrowed eyes and a judge-y stare. Ignoring that, Michael proceeds to the back of the store, where the glorious slushy machine sits, every flavor taunting him in varying voices.  
  
“What do you think you’re gonna get?” Jeremy’s voice startles Michael out of his decision-making, before he turns, swiping two cups from the counter.  
  
“Today feels like a Coca-Cola day, you know?”  
  
“I agree,” Jeremy says, chuckling as they fill their cups to the brim before going to pay.  
  
As they walk out of the store, still feeling the cashier’s dead stare on them, Jeremy takes a long slurp. “So, what time do you think we need to leave tonight?”  
  
Michael pales, remembering the events of the hours to come. He waits for Jeremy to unlock the car, sinking into the seats as he speaks. “I mean, Jordyn said that the thing would start at 7, so I’d say get ready at 5 and leave as soon as possible to get there by 6:45. Sound good?”  
  
Jeremy processes the information for a few seconds before nodding. “Totally.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
………….  
  
Michael isn’t ready. Nope. Nada. Not a bit.  
  
He stares at his reflection in the mirror, running his product-covered fingers through his hair one last time before washing them. “It’s okay,” he whispers to himself. “It’s okay. You look fine.”  
  
Wincing at the headache pounding at his temples, Michael pops a few ibuprofen pills, willing them to go to work fast.  
  
Looking in the mirror one last time and brushing some nonexistent dust particles off the rose in his tux’s lapel, he sighs, turning away and talking out into the living room. Rich and Jeremy had been waiting for him, Rich in a maroon tuxedo, and Jeremy in his black one. Michael notes the flower in Jeremy’s lapel matching his. Jenna assigned outfits, so of course, she’d do this  
  
Michael feels a wave of calm wash over him as he eyes the two. Michael’s gaze locks on Jeremy, who looks—wow.  
  
They both stand, Jeremy nervously picking at his nails. “You look handsome,” he offers with a small smile. Michael feels his ears go hot at the compliment as he crosses the room, planting a kiss on Jeremy’s cheekbone.  
  
“You’re handsomer,” he mutters into Jeremy’s hair.  
  
“I’m gonna just ignore your awful grammar,” Jeremy laughs as he steps back with a tiny smirk.  
  
Michael presses a hand to his chest. “Is that because you love me?”  
  
“Obviously,” Jeremy says, pulling Michael close and draping his arms around Michael’s neck, kissing him deeply.  
  
Michael smiles into the kiss as Rich makes over-exaggerated gagging noises. “GET A ROOM.”  
  
………………..  
  
Michael takes a few deep breaths, squeezing Jeremy’s hand even tighter. The nerves in his stomach rage, making it hard to breathe and they pull into the parking lot of a huge, fancy-schmancy hotel. Michael wasn’t sure initially when Jordyn told him she got the conference room, but when she said a small “Trust me”, he did in an instant.  
  
Now he sees why.  
  
Jeremy gasps as he notes the many black cars in the lot. Ohhhhh boy.  
  
Slipping out of the car, Michael, Jeremy, and Rich enter the humid air of August, walking slowly to the grand entrance. Seeing a familiar head, though, Michael grins, tugging Jeremy forward until he’s going at a steady job.  
  
“Jordyn!” He calls and said girl turns around, eyebrows lifted as she looks up from her phone. Immediately, she beams, slipping her phone into the pocket of her purse and running towards him.  
  
“Michael!” Michael notes how she had changed over the years. Her skin is clearer and her chocolate colored eyes are bright, matching her equally brown locks that stretch just below her shoulders. The top part is twisted into a bun with small flowers woven into it.  
  
The dress she wears is a black color, the bodice tight on her frame until it goes loose at the waist, brushing the floor. The fabric is soft against Michael’s hands as he wraps her in a hug, finally being taller than her. In retrospect, she probably wasn’t even that tall when she left for college.  
  
Jordyn pulls back with a dazzling smile as she grips Michael’s biceps. “Oh my god!” She waits for a beat, scanning his body and face. “You’re a man!”  
  
Michael smirks, cocking for his head. “I’ve been one for a few years now.”  
  
“Oh, shut up,” Jordyn says with a laugh as she swats his arm. Finally noticing the two accompanying Michael, she steps aside. “Whoa, Mikey. You’ve got friends?” she jokes, which causes Michael to grumble something inaudible.  
  
“Okay,” Jordyn says, clapping her hands together. “So…,” she pauses, pointing from Rich to Jeremy and back again. “you’re Rich?”  
  
To this, Rich smiles, swiping a hand through his hair and reaching the other out to shake Jordyn’s. “Yup,” Rich grins, probably not wanting to shock Jordyn with his stunning pronunciation of his own name. ‘Ritchard Goransthki, at your thervith.’ Nah.  
  
Jordyn nods, saying a small “Nice to meet you, Rich,” before turning to Jeremy. Her smile becomes wicked as she leans in, causing to Jeremy to lean back in fear. “So, you’re the charming young man who’s been warming dear Michael’s bed?”  
  
“T-technically,” Jeremy stutters, licking his lips. “I-I mean, hi. I’m J-Jeremy.” The boy’s voice is shaky and so is his smile as he tries to shake her hand. Jordyn ignores both the shaking and the hand as she turns to Michael with a vicious smile.  
  
“You’re right, he is cute.”  
  
Both Michael and Jeremy flush at the words as Rich snickers. Jordyn finally turns back to Jeremy, who had slowly pulled his hand down. “Hi, Jeremy. I’m Jordyn, but you might know that.” At Jeremy’s small nod, Jordyn leans in, lowing her voice to where Michael almost can’t hear.  
  
“Let’s get one thing clear, Heere.”  
  
Michael isn’t able to hear the rest, but he notices Jeremy pale considerably. “Wouldn’t dr-dream of it,” he chokes out. Maybe Jordyn and Christine aren’t that much different in their ways of scaring datemates.  
  
A few seconds later, Michael is able to catch the last part of Jordyn’s speech, something about how if Jeremy hurts Michael, she’s pull his organs out from his eye sockets. Michael goes in, grabbing Jordyn’s shoulder and wrenching her away.  
  
“I think he gets it, mom,” he says through grit teeth before turning back to Jeremy with a nervous smile.  
  
“Sorry, Jer. She gets like that sometimes. I promise, she’s mostly harmless.”  
  
“Emphasis on ‘mostly’,” Jordyn cuts in before Rich jumps.  
  
“Mike,” he says, twirling the red stripe in his hair. “Jake’s here. I’ll be right back.” He pauses, acknowledging Jordyn. “Uh, it was nice to meet you.” The short man nearly sprints to the car that had just pulled up.  
  
“He seems nice,” Jordyn notes. Remembering Jeremy, she turns back around, a genuine lopsided smile on her face. “Just want you to know, Jeremy, that I’m not a maniac. I mean, sure I’ll be pissed if you hurt Michael, but something tells me you won’t.”  
  
Michael smiles gently, watching the scene unfold, completely ignoring the people (most of which he’d never seen) flood in, all in fancy attire. If that isn’t nerve-wracking, he doesn’t know what is.  
  
Back in front of him, Jordyn stands on her tip toes, which is mighty impressive for being in stiletto heels. She whispers something to Jeremy, who looks down at her and nods steadily. “More than you know,” he mutters and Michael can only wonder what they were talking about.  
  
“Um,” Michael interjects, waving at the two. “I hate to interrupt and all, but I think it’s time to go in?” He gestures to the large glass doors that read ‘DOOM’. Or, I guess, ‘J. W. Marriott of New Jersey’, but both apply.  
  
“Right,” Jeremy says, walking over to Michael and wrapping an arm around his waist. Jeremy being shorter than Michael, the two just seem to fit like this, with Michael’s arm draped around his shoulders. “You’re gonna do great, love,” he whispers, pulling Michael closer for a small kiss.  
  
Michael eventually pulls back because, you know, breathing is a thing you have to do, and gazes down into Jeremy’s blue eyes, the same ones that stare up at him like he hung the stars.  
  
“I love you,” Michael says before pulling him close once more and resting his chin atop Jeremy’s mop of curls. On instinct, Jeremy’s arms snake around Michael as he leans into him.  
  
From her spot, Jordyn watches with a tiny smile, glad that Michael found someone who made him happy. Of course, she wouldn’t voice that quite yet. Instead, she pops out her phone and makes sure that her eyeliner isn’t smudged from the hugging before calling out to the two, “As cute as you two are, we really gotta motor.”  
  
As thus, as Michael and Jeremy part, the looming nerves peak and Michael turns, gripping Jeremy’s hand like a lifeline, and walking straight into the lobby of the hotel.____

_____ _

_____ _

_____ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smh.  
> It isn't my fault my brain saw smh and thought suck my hands, i swear.  
> This was supposed to be a part of the next chapter as well, but it was already like 9 pages in word, its late, i wanted to get this out tonight, and the flow wouldn't work for one chapter.  
> Sooooo, let me just promise an emotional rollercoaster for the next one, okay?  
> (Look, loser! You finally talk in here, J)  
> As always, comments and kudos are more than appreciated. I love that stuff.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ever seen a plot diagram? This is it. way up and then way down abruptly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: At the end (after the release party, so when they get home), there's gonna be some yelling and intense memories of abuse and just Negative Thoughts. Be safe.  
> Also, i know it's been 3467 years since i uploaded, but I have been one busy gal, so here. Have some angst.

As Michael walks in, head held high with fake confidence, he can’t help but gape at the decorations, all of which must cost a fortune. How much did Jordyn pay to get this, exactly?  
  
The lobby is furnished with lavish armchairs, all looking slightly uncomfortable, but very expensive. The light wall color and the mirrors adorning each wall make the room look infinitely bigger and the lights are tasteful, European-style lamps. Despite the size of the place, Michael can’t deny that it’s elegant. Cozy, almost. Hell, they’ve got a brick fireplace stretching up a wall. Let him live.  
  
Around the room, employees are stationed at random, catering to any need, and glass dispensers of lemon water reflect the sparkling lights.  
  
“Micah, you’re gonna catch flies,” Jeremy, remarks under his breath, nudging Michael with his elbow. Michael chuckles, nudging him back as Jordyn joins Michael’s other side.  
  
“Pretty impressive, huh?” She preens and Michael rolls his eyes half-heartedly at her way of fishing for compliments.  
  
“Yeah, J-man,” Michael says. “You have proved yourself.” He decides to take it up a notch, throwing the back of a hand to his forehead. “We are not worthy of your presence, great one.”  
  
He links elbows with Jeremy and darts sideways away from Jordyn, who laughs. “I shall grant you an audience for now,” she says, catching up with the two that follow the a-frame signs (even THOSE are fancy) that point to the conference room.  
  
Oh, right. This thing.  
  
Michael swallows one last time, looking to Jordyn with fearful eyes as they approach the grand doors that would ultimately lead to Michael’s death. She nods encouragingly, patting his back and Jeremy leans into Michael.  
Inhale. Exhale.  
  
The black-clad staff opens the door for them as Michael sucks in a breath.  
  
If this is Versailles, the lobby is a shack. In fact, from Michael’s screwed up memory of history class, this place really does resemble Versailles. Crystal chandeliers hang from the high ceilings, illuminating the room in a soft glow. The walls are decorated with small accents, tiny angels melting into soft clouds by the door frames and marble columns stretch upwards, painted ivy with gold accents trailing up.  
  
At the side of the room, a table is set up with stacks upon stacks of books, all of which are copies of Be More Chill. Michael had designated a whole 6 hours to signing all of them. That night, he could see his own signature behind his eyelids.  
  
Up front, near the podium, waiters in black attire walk with trays holding flutes of champagne and finger sandwiches, which causes Michael to shoot Jordyn a wide-eyed glance.  
  
“Champagne?” He whisper-shouts.  
  
Seeming to know what he means, Jordyn shakes her head. “Don’t worry about it,” she mouths, taking a flute for herself with thanks.  
  
“This is…wow,” Jeremy mutters, eyes roaming around the room in wonder. “It’s so beautiful.”  
  
“Yeah,” Michael agrees, squeezing Jeremy’s elbow with his. He’s about to speak once more, or perhaps lose track of his words and stand like a gaping fish, when Rich walks up, followed by Jake, Chloe, and Brooke.  
  
Rich gives the three a toothy grin, leaning into Jake’s arm that’s wrapped around his shoulders. “Hey guys!” He calls, eyes going to give the room a once-over. “Is this place great or what?”  
  
“I know, right?” Jordyn gushes, twirling a strand of her hair excitedly as her other hand taps against the almost-empty glass she holds.  
  
“Congrats, buddy,” Jake smiles, the navy-blue suit complimenting the white of his teeth. Why isn’t this kid a model, again?  
  
“Thanks,” Michael grins, the nerves that had been eating at him for weeks finally starting to ease as his friends smile at him. He takes a minute to study Chloe and Brooke, as he never got to see what they were planning on wearing. In truth, they look stunning.  
  
Chloe stands in 6-inch black heels, a stark contrast to her pale pink dress, black flowers trailing down the neckline and sweeping off of her shoulders. Her hair is curled to perfection and it seems as though she changed her part. Along with this, Michael is shocked by her makeup. When Chloe boasted her ability to make an eyeliner wing so sharp it could kill a man, he didn’t think it was so truthful.  
  
On the other hand, Brooke stands short as always. Her dress is a deep red, which compliments her pale blonde hair. The dress is simple, a pure color free of floral accents of any kind. It stretches to the floor, with a slit at the side reaching just above her knee. Her makeup accents the colors she wears with pride and her hair is woven into a Dutch braid that reaches over her shoulder.  
  
In short, both of the girls shine with ethereal beauty.  
  
Too bad Michael isn’t interested in being nice or straight any time soon.  
  
“You guys look like trash,” he says with an air of fake haughtiness, flipping imaginary hair over his shoulder. As Jeremy snorts and slaps his arm, Michael retracts his statement. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. You both look beautiful.” He pauses, scanning the group. “Where’s Jenna and Chris?”  
  
As if on cue, the two girls saunter up, amazed smiles adorning their faces. “Oh my god,” Christine gushes excitedly, leaning in to hug Michael around the neck. “You did it! This is amazing!”  
  
“I know right?” Michael says with equal volume, resembling a teenage fangirl. He steps back, smile still on his face as he glances over the girls.  
  
Jenna wears a black dress that looks somewhat like Jordyn’s, a midnight black with what must be stars trailing down from the waist. Her hair is pulled up in a pony tail, the ends curled and brushed out. She sports a smoky eye and burgundy lip.  
  
If Jenna is night, Christine is day. Her dress is robin’s egg blue, the skirt stopping at her knees before flowing out in the back. What was it called? A high-low dress? Gold gladiator sandals trail up her calves and her hair is kept as it usually is, black strands cropped just above her shoulders.  
  
Again, though, Michael is very much homosexual and very much taken.  
  
Let us continue.  
  
Comfortable silence stretches on and Michael jolts, remembering that Jordyn has no idea who these people are. “How did I forget? Guys? Jordyn,” he says, gesturing to his long-time friend. The group nods politely.  
  
“Jordyn? This is Rich and Jake. They’re dating, so calm your hormones.” He says snidely, smirking as Jordyn blushes, holding up her hand to show a ring.  
  
“Must I remind you I’m married?”  
  
Ignoring this, Michael continues. “Irrelevant. Moving on. That’s Chloe and Brooke. Again, dating. There’s Jenna and Christine. Not dating, and, of course, you’ve met Jeremy. We good?”  
  
At everyone’s silent nods, Michael clasps his hand. “Awesome.”  
  
He scans the room, looking to find anyone he knows and breaks out in a grin as his eyes land on his mothers, who walking in the door with bulging eyes. “Guys, I’ll be right back,” he says quickly, grabbing Jeremy’s wrist and dragging him with him as he goes to greet his moms.  
  
“Nanay!” He yells as the women notice him approaching, a wild looking excited man-child dragging along a confused teddy bear. Jasmine processes everything first, beaming as her nudges her wife and power walks to meet her son.  
  
“Anak,” she grins, wrapping him in a hug the moment they meet. “I’m so proud of you, syota,” she mumbles into his neck, leaning her weight into Michael’s body as she is significantly shorter than him. Michael drags his hand down her hair as she pulls back, bending and kissing the top of her head.  
  
“Thank you,” Michael says quietly, smiling gently before looking up and letting the woman go. The other woman, Aniela, presses her lips together with pride, gripping Michael’s shoulders.  
  
Her eyes, a dark, beautiful color, sweep his appearance before she pulls him into a tight hug. As she pulls back, as she opens her mouth to speak, but quickly shuts up as she sees Jeremy, who looks somewhat uncomfortable. Should he watch? Or pretend to look around the room?  
  
“Right,” Michael says under his breath, hands still entwined with Aniela’s. “So, you know how I told you guys I have a boyfriend?”  
  
Before he can continue, both women let out gasps as they swarm Jeremy, greeting him and grinning. “Hello!” Jasmine says, nearly squealing. She sticks out her hand. “I’m Jasmine, this is Aniela. We’re Michael’s moms.” Deciding to stay silent and watch with a smirk, Michael cuts off whatever he was going to say.  
  
Jeremy seems to calm down, as the overwhelmed look on his face fades away and he smiles. “Hi,” he beams, meeting Jasmine’s hand firmly. “I’m Jeremy.” It looks as though Jeremy is proud of himself for not stuttering (Michael is too). “It’s nice to meet you.”  
  
“And you,” Aniela smiles warmly as Jeremy moves to shake her hand, though she totally disregards it, going to hug him as well.  
  
Jeremy’s face flushes, but he slowly wraps his arms around her in return. She seems to say something to him because he blinks and chuckles lowly, nodding.  
  
The two break away, Aniela smiling to herself. She looks up at Michael with pride in her eyes as she clasps her hand. “He’s a good one, anak.” As Michael opens his mouth to speak some more, perhaps to compliment the new shawl Jasmine sports, a determined looking Jordyn approaches.  
  
Slightly out of breath, she takes the time to notice Michael’s company before wrapping her arms around both of the women. “It’s so great to see you guys,” she smiles politely before turning back to Michael seriously.  
  
“They want you to give your speech now,” she deadpans.  
  
Michael nods, wrapping an arm around Jeremy’s waist before going rigid. “Wait, hold up. My what?”  
  
“Come on,” she says quickly, nearly leaving them in the dust if she had not gripped Michael’s wrist and drags him along.  
  
“Good luck, love!” Jasmine calls from her spot, where she leans against Aniela, and Michael swallows down nausea as he prepares a last-minute speech.  
  
……………  
  
“Go,” the woman beside the stage whispers, pointing to Michael as he fights not to clench and unclench his hands. He can’t put them in his pocket, can he? Screw it. Michael shoves his hands deep into his pockets as the publishing manager taps a spoon against his glass, quieting the room full of people. In the front row stands Michael’s family, a few cousins and close relatives. Beside them, Jordyn stands with the rest of the group.  
  
“We want to thank you all for coming out tonight,” the man smiles warmly, waving his champagne slowly. “I’m Collin Reyes, the manager of Spivey Publishers and we’re honored to have helped bring to life this amazing book, Be More Chill.” He pauses, bringing the glass closer to his broad chest as the crowd fills the silence with polite applause.  
  
Okay, I say polite. Rich had let out a loud whoop.  
  
Classy.  
  
“Well,” Mr. Reyes chuckles, smiling at the press in the back, “Let’s turn the microphone to the author, the wonderfully talented Michael Mell.” The applause at his name is a bit louder, mainly because of his relatives and friends being those people, loud and boisterous and supportive.  
  
Except Michael can’t hear them over the roaring in his ears and the thunderous beating of his heart and—oh god—had he ever been this sweaty in his life? Gym class excluded?  
  
Michael realizes that the clapping had dialed down which means it’s his turn to talk, which means—“Hi, again, thank you so much for coming tonight to support us,” he starts, plastering on a fake smile and trying to fight the shaking. “Of course, when I started writing this, I had no idea that it would actually get done, let alone be published.” A few chuckles ripple through the crowd and Michael relaxes, if just a bit.  
  
“I want to thank Spivey Publishers, obviously, for not thinking my idea was borderline insane and might convince people to do drugs. Who knows? I—uh—wanna thank my family,” he says, turning his eyes to them and smiling warmly, winking at the youngest, a 6 year old named Tia. She waves excitedly. “I really don’t know where I’d be without them. They’re all so supportive and I love you all so much.” A few ‘awww’ sounds come from the back.  
  
“Jordyn, I wanted to thank you for being there for me back when you convinced me not to throw away my pac-man lunch box when someone made fun of it, to now. You’re my editor, for Christ sake. The best one, might I add. You’re absolutely amazing and a part of our family.”  
  
She smiles through what looks like tears and kindly flips him off. Subtly, of course, so she isn’t dragged by the ear out of there by his moms.  
  
“Rich,” Michael continues, the words flowing from his easily now, “You’re like a brother to me. As insane as it might sound, I really look up to you, man. You knew exactly which liquor was best for each of my writing blocks and put up with my weird obsession with hot chocolate in the summer time. Thanks, man.”  
  
Rich grins up at Michael, something that Michael has to squint against the lights to see.  
  
“Uh, I wanna say thanks to my new friends. You hear that, moms? I can count my friends on two hands!” In the crowd, Michael sees Aniela hold up two thumbs, winking as laughter erupts from the people. Michael continues. “You guys are amazing supporters and I probably would not have gotten this done as fast if it weren’t for you guys, so…yeah. Keep being awesome.”  
  
Michael’s eyes turn to Jeremy, who looks up at him with a lazy, slanted smile, finger playing idly with the rose on his chest.  
  
“That leads me to you, Jeremy. I’d be lying if I said I know what I did to deserve you, but I must have done something right, because…God, you’re everything I could possibly want and more. You let me hold your hand and…you sat through hours after hours of Hozier without complaining. You ate my failed attempts at crepes happily and—just—I love you more than words can say, Jeremy. You’re my everything, Miah.”  
  
Finally, he looks up at the crowd of people, all staring at him. “So, thank you all. I really appreciate it.”  
  
The applause is thunderous.  
  
……….  
  
“Cheers,” Jordyn laughs, clinking her glass against Michael’s. Said boy had taken away Jeremy’s drinking rights for the night. Though Jeremy insisted he only had two, Michael didn’t want to chance anything.  
  
Jake laughs at something rich had said, probably in regards to the fact that the artist that painted the angels on the walls didn’t leave out certain parts.  
  
“Oh, my god, Jake,” Chloe huffs. “You obviously know what a penis looks like. Stop getting so riled up over a painting of one.”  
  
“Obviously,” Rich mirrors, snorting a laugh.  
  
“Richard fRANCIS GORANSKI.”  
  
Michael laughs, wrapping an arm around Jeremy and stealing a quick kiss, keeping his hand placed gently on Jeremy’s neck, fingers twirling his hair. Looking around at all of his friends and family together, of all of the people mingling with copies of his book tucked under his arm…  
  
Michael smiles, letting all of the worry of the past few weeks fall off of him.  
  
…………..  
  
And within hours, it was back.  
  
……………..  
  
Jeremy sighs, fingers playing the fabric of his sweatpants as he sags onto the couch across from Michael and Rich. “So,” he breathes, gnawing on his lip as a smile works his way onto his face. “That happened.”  
  
Michael smiles, that same look of pride and happiness still on his face. Jeremy nods, standing and walking over to sit beside Michael, instantly cuddling into his warmth. “I’m so proud of you,” he mumbles into his shirt as Michael pulls him closer against him, eyes glued to the tv.  
  
“Okay, but Rich, your tuxedo was totally fl—Huh?” Jeremy watches as Michael scrunches up his nose, lifting his lap off of the couch to grab his phone where his Falsettos ringtone blares.  
  
“Hello?” Michael asks and Jeremy might have dismissed the call if not for every drop of blood in Michael’s face drains, leaving his usually tanned skin pale. Jeremy is sitting bolt upright in an instant as Michael shoots off of the couch, pressing his lips together. “Are you okay?” He asks and Jeremy can’t help but think that the only time he heard Michael that seriously was when he saw Jeremy with…with Eric.  
  
Jeremy fights for breath as Michael’s eyebrows furrow. “Is she--,” Michael gasps, hand pressed to his mouth. Slowly, Rich mutes the tv, leaning forward with tight lips and wide eyes. “She’ll be okay?” Michael seems to sag with relief before tensing once more.  
  
“How bad is the damage?” Was it a car crash? Silence. “Yeah. Okay, I’ll call Jordyn and…okay. I love you, mom. Bye.”  
  
Jeremy can feel the tense silence as Michael hangs up, instantly tapping in another number and moving to his room. Helplessly, Jeremy turns his eyes to rich, who stares at Michael’s closed bedroom door. “Rich?” He whispers.  
  
“Wait a few minutes,” Rich instructs, unnervingly silent.  
  
So he does. The seconds tick slower and slower by the minute until Jeremy can hear Michael saying goodbye to someone and then the quiet returns, fierce and terrifying.  
  
“Go,” Rich mouths, gesturing the door.  
  
Jeremy stands on shaking legs, heart hammering in his chest as he takes small steps. What should he say?  
  
He leans his weight against the door, pushing it open slowly to see Michael sagged on the bed, head in his hands. The sight breaks Jeremy’s heart and he bites down hard on his lip.  
  
The mattress shifts under Jeremy’s weight as he sits about a forearm’s length away from Michael. “Michael, I---,”  
  
“Jeremy, now isn’t a good time,” Michael says, sounding suddenly extremely tired, lifting his head slowly. “If you could just maybe--,”  
  
“Michael?” Jeremy says softly, trying not to let his voice break. He goes to place his hand on Michael’s, knowing that touch sometimes grounded the boy but-  
  
Jeremy realizes all too soon that he pushed too far as Michael snatches his hand away. “Get out,” Michael snaps, a deadly kind of quiet in his voice as he points to the door. Still, though, Jeremy hesitates, his mouth opening slightly as he fights to find words. Perhaps that’s the straw that broke the camel’s back.  
  
“Get out!” Michael yells, standing up and taking a wide stance. “Just shut up and go the hell away!” The minute the words exit Michael’s mouth, he pales, mouth falling open as he gasps.  
  
Or at least, that’s what might be happening. Jeremy blinks, leaning back a little bit as the verbal pain sinks in. He turns his eyes down, swallowing shakily. Michael might be trying to apologize, but Jeremy wouldn’t know. All he can do is stumble off the bed, backing up slowly because-  
  
_Michael yelled. Loud voice means anger. Anger means he’s…_  
  
_He’s gonna hit me._  
  
Michael’s mouth is moving but Jeremy can’t hear above the muffled thoughts, repeated loud and fast and unending.  
  
_I thought it was over._  
  
Jeremy bites his tongue, bracing himself for a blow that is sure to come. “Sorry,” he breathes out hysterically, “I’m sorry, sorry, sorry.” He backs up further, flinching when his back hits the door. Michael takes a step towards him and that’s all it takes to let habit sink in. He quickly whips around, twisting the nob until his shaking hands can open get the door open. Jeremy runs.  
  
He sprints to his room, the sound of footsteps on his heels as Michael must be following. Please don’t. Please don’t. Please.  
  
Jeremy digs his heel into the carpet, his heartbeat loud in his ears as his stomach churns with fear. The minute his door gives, he slips in, slamming it shut and locking it, lips quaking as the tears finally show.  
  
Jeremy’s back presses against the door as hard as possible as Michael’s words blend in with everything Eric had said. He should have known. He should have left as soon as Michael said to. He should have-  
  
“Jeremy!” Michael’s voice scares Jeremy into jumping, hissing in surprise. “Please let me in!” His fist bangs against the door and his voice is loud and desperate, which doesn’t exactly help at all.  
  
“It’s okay,” Jeremy lies in a whimper, sliding down to sit against the door, trying to take deep breaths to calm himself down but Eric’s gotten through a locked door before. Who says Michael can’t?  
  
“No, it’s not! Please let me in, I swear I didn’t mean it!” Michael jiggles the knob and Jeremy bites down hard on his lip, fists aching from being clenched for so long. Is Michael crying?  
  
“Please, just go,” Jeremy breathes, only being sure Michael heard when the sound on the other side of the door disappears.  
  
“I’m not gonna hurt you. I swear on my life,” Michael says slowly, perhaps trying at gentleness.  
  
“Okay,” Jeremy mumbles, the numbness setting in before the next few words Michael utters shatters through it, bringing back every feeling of worthlessness accumulated over the months. Michael’s voice breaks just as Jeremy’s heart does, the tape Michael had applied peeling off slowly.  
  
“You know I love you, right?”  
  
_Jeremy wakes up shivering, hugging his arms to his chest as someone shakes his shoulder gently. Back screaming with pain, Jeremy winces, cracking open his eyes and seeing Eric, bright blue eyes wide with worry. Pushing himself off of the floor, he lets Eric’s hand ghost his skin, tracing deep bruises and healing cuts from the previous night._  
  
_“I’m so sorry I did this to you,” Eric murmurs, kissing Jeremy’s hair with love. “I didn’t mean any of it, okay?”_  
  
_Don’t believe him this time, the voice in his head begs, but the look of sincerity in Eric’s eyes…_  
  
_“Okay,” Jeremy says with a smile, letting Eric help him up and his arms wrap around him. “Let’s get some band-aids, yeah?” Too tired to respond, Jeremy nods, allowing Eric to walk him to the bathroom. Suddenly, Eric freezes._  
  
_“Jeremy, look at me.” Though the words are said softly, Jeremy snaps his head to Eric, afraid of what might happen if he doesn’t. “It won’t happen again. I swear on my life.” Jeremy nods again and lets Eric steal him for a kiss. “You know I love you, right?”_  
  
Biting back a sob, Jeremy bites the back of his hand. “Okay,” he says through his teeth and once the air behind the door isn’t heavy and the sound of Michael’s door closing can be heard, Jeremy buries his head in his arms, letting the cries wrack his body.  
  
**_Oh, Jeremy. Don’t you know it’s never over?_**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry it took so long. This should be one of the last chapters so that's a thing.   
> Comments are always wanted.  
> Thanks for reading!  
> (Tiny happy birthday to my best friend! Love you, JProc)


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hahaha have some sadness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's just...so short  
> Honestly 81% dialogue

Michael scrunches up his nose, his previous unconscious state leaving like the tide. He groans, the tiny part of his shoulder not heated by the blanket covered in chill bumps and he quickly goes to fix it, turning over and wrapping the covers tighter around him. Michael hopes to get a few more hours of sleep as he nestles into a comfy spot.  
  
That is, until his notices how his face is tight with dried tears and his throat burns like a mother and—good god. Every word, every cracked plea, every wretched sob from last night rushes back and he wonders if wallowing would help anything. Not today.  
  
Michael yanks the covers off, ignoring the bitter cold of his room, and marches to the door, wondering what he would say to Jeremy…if he were still here. Fear sinks in at that prospect. When would he come back? Would he ever?  
  
As he faces Jeremy’s closed door, his fears are confirmed. “He’s gone,” Rich says solemnly from the living room and Michael slowly turns to face him, jaw going slack as immeasurable guilt causes his chest to tighten.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Left three hours ago,” Rich replies as Michael wonders if he’s ever seen Rich so serious and…mad.  
  
“A-And you didn’t stop him?” Michael can’t help the crushing sensation in his heart as he fights for breath and maybe a reasonable thought.  
  
“It’s not my place to,” Rich deadpans with a lifted eyebrow, remaining unmoving on the couch. “You really messed up, Mikey,” he says as Michael swallows, staring at the ground as tears burn his eyes.  
  
Yep, he’s pissed. Michael totally agrees.  
  
Michael’s words from last night echo in his thoughts and he takes a shuddering breath, looking up helplessly as the tears begin trailing down his cheeks, dampening his skin as he bites hard on his lip. “What do I do?” He chokes out, fighting back the sobs. Rich simply watches him, face blank.  
  
“Your mom called about an hour ago,” Rich says finally, nodding his head to Michael’s charging phone. “I’d start that that.”  
  
Not trusting his voice, Michael nods, wiping his hands across his face in a desperate attempt to stop the tears.  
  
………………  
  
“Hey, honey,” Aniela’s voice says over the phone as Michael sits in the armchair, anxiously rubbing his knee.  
  
“H-Hey, Mom,” he says, hoping his voice isn’t too rough from crying. “How’s Nanay?”  
  
A few seconds of silence from his mother’s side of the line causes Michael’s anxiety to spike.  
  
“She’ll be okay. A few broken bones, but that’s it.” Michael sighs with relief.  
  
“Good. And the car?” He hears Aniela seethe.  
  
“Yeah, not so great. Gonna be totaled.”  
  
Michael cringes, trying to stall the inevitable. “So, will you need any financial help?”  
  
“No,” Aniela laughs, “We’ll be okay, Mr. Author.”  
  
“Right,” Michael says slowly, trying to figure out how to word that he might have made the biggest mistake of his life. Of course, not being on the streets looking for Jeremy might be an even bigger mistake, but— “Mom, remember Jeremy? My boyfriend?”  
  
“Yeah, honey, why?” Aniela chirps.  
  
“Uh, so, last night I kinda fuc—screwed up and yelled at him when I found out about the wreck?” It’s said as a quick question in one breath.  
  
“What did you say?” Aniela’s voice is that of carefulness, as though she’s walking a tightrope.  
  
“I told him to shut up and go away,” Michael says with unmatched shame.  
  
“Oh, Michael,” she sighs, “is he home?”  
  
“No. Rich told me he left a while ago.”  
  
Michael hears his mother, pause before replying with optimism, “Well, I’m sure he’ll come back. Give him some space and apologize when he comes back. He loves you so much there’s no way he wouldn’t forgive you.” She might have gone on if Michael doesn’t stop her.  
  
“No, Mom, listen.” Michael bites his finger hard, letting the blunt truth escape his lips. “He was an abuse victim.”  
  
Aniela’s breath hitches and she swallows. “He…What?”  
  
“His…Ex wasn’t good. For, like, three months Jeremy faced physical and mental abuse and no one helped him because they didn’t know and so he was just stuck in this--,”  
  
“Michael,” Aniela cuts him off sternly. “Forget everything I just said. You run and find him, apologize, and—God, the poor kid.”  
  
Looking up at the window, Michael’s new olive colored bomber jacket catches his eye. “Mom, I gotta go,” he says in one breath. “Love you, bye.”  
  
Tugging on his shoes and the jacket, he’s out the door and wondering where he should search first.  
  
…………….  
  
Not on any street near the house, Michael mentally notes as he scans every head in front of him. Where would Jeremy go when he’s at his worst. Who would he go to?  
  
Christine.  
  
Michael whirls, pushing through the crowd of people and heading south instead of north, on his way to fall on his knees at Christine’s doorstep.  
  
Now, don’t think the guilt is gone. Michael doesn’t think it will ever go away, it’s just that right now, the guilt is masked by churning nerves. What would he say to Jeremy? How could he make his source of happiness understand that he didn’t mean a word of what he said?  
  
The pounding in his ears gets louder as he gets closer to Christine’s front door and all too soon he faces the knocker, wondering if it’s a doorbell occasion or not. Nervously, he brings his shaking hand to the door and knocks twice, loud and clear.  
  
The silence stretches on and Michael would have knocked again if the door didn’t swing open, revealing Chloe and Brooke standing behind Christine, who’s face falls.  
  
“No,” she drones, reaching to close the door before Michael desperately reaches out pushing the door back open.  
  
“Please,” he begs. “Is Jeremy here?”  
  
“Yep,” Brooke smiles in a bitter sort of way.  
  
“Can I please talk to him?”  
  
“Nope,” Chloe says in the same fashion as Brooke. The hope drains out of his body as Michael totally prepares himself to get on two knees.  
  
“I messed up so bad, please just let me-,”  
  
“No means no,” Christine growls slowly, putting a threat in each word. Michael stares at her with upturned eyebrows, praying that she’d crack or have pity or something, anything.  
  
Christine’s chin wobbles slightly and she turns misty eyes to Michael. “You promised,” she says, voice cracking as she speaks barely above a whisper. Michael spreads his arms out helplessly, the familiar feeling of tears spilling occurring once more.  
  
“I know,” he whimpers before bringing a fist to his mouth.  
  
Chloe sighs, propping her elbow on the banister. “I think you should go.” Her voice is icy but the words burn like blue fire.  
  
Not wanting to push any boundaries, Michael surrenders. “Okay. Just…tell him I’m sorry, that I love him, and…Please ask him to come home. At least propose the idea. Please.” His voice cracks at the last word, built up fear that maybe this is it. He will go down in Jeremy’s book as Villain #2 and Michael…will most likely have to live with that forever.  
  
Christine’s eyes soften, if only just a bit. “We will.”  
  
“Thank you,” he whispers before the large door slams in his face.  
  
……………….  
  
Michael sleeps on the couch that night, waiting desperately for his love to come home so he can have a proper apology. He sits in the dark, not daring to go to sleep for fear of him missing Jeremy slipping in. Not caring enough to watch tv, he stares out the window, gazing at the stars shining brightly, even with the light pollution. The moon cast shadows across the dimly illuminated living room and the soft song of city nights, the song he learned to sync in with since he was 5, lulls him to sleep. He doesn’t miss anything though.  
  
Jeremy doesn’t come home that night.  
  
…………..  
  
Or the next night.  
  
……………  
  
Or the next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did i say? This is like the Thumbelina of chapters, but i felt as though this was a good place to cut off.  
> AAAAnyway, comments are always appreciated. (Read: Needed)


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *whispers* So this is the last official chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO BC THIS IS THE LAST, I WANTED TO DO A SHORT THANK YOU TO SOME FOLKS THAT REALLY HELPED.  
> JORDYN, YOU'RE THE BEST BEST FRIEND I COULD HAVE AND 10/10 MOTIVATOR.  
> JES, WHO WILL PROBS NEVER READ THIS, FOR BEING AN AMAZING IDEA GENERATOR (seriously, she's great at them)  
> AND FOR EVERYONE THAT READ, LIKED, COMMENTED, ECT. yOU GUYS MEAN THE WORLD

A week. A whole week. Seven full days of torture for Michael, days where Jeremy doesn’t answer his calls, or Christine turns him away, or just another night where he falls asleep alone.  
  
As the days go on, every noise sounds like hope. Every night, Michael leaps off of the couch as the front door opens, only to see Rich setting his bag down. Not Jeremy. That white door turns into Michael’s torture device, being the only thing he stares at for hours at a time.  
  
Something that Michael can’t bring himself to do is look into a mirror. How could he? How could he lay eyes on the monster that hurt Jeremy a second time, picking at a scab that had almost healed? The bags under his eyes and the constant red tint of tears is a reminder of why he’s alone as he falls asleep.  
  
Of course, with all this time on his hands, Michael uses plenty of it to plan out what he would say when Jeremy comes back, because he will. He will and there isn’t any room for thoughts saying otherwise. Michael plans out every point of apology, writing the script for the two to follow.  
  
Saturday afternoon, a week after the book release party and the…incident, Michael sits on the couch, which isn’t too rare these past few days, staring at the wall. The sun, suggesting it’s probably around 5:00 pm, casts shadows through the window that’s halfway covered with curtains.  
  
Michael registers the sound of the front door opening, not letting himself get his hopes up as he flicks his eyes to the floor. “Hey, Rich,” he mumbles, but Rich doesn’t respond. Great. What did Michael do this time?  
  
He turns his eyes to the door frame, seeing a pair of sloppily tied Converse, wear and tear evident. But…Rich is a Vans kind of guy?  
  
Michael jerks up, eyes shooting to meet Jeremy’s, which hold the same bright blue as they did the day they met, the day Michael confessed, and the day it all went to hell. Seeing those eyes, feeling a parched side of him fill with a well of water, Michael freezes.  
  
Yeah, that speech Michael prepared?  
  
Right out the window.  
  
Michael feels his jaw go numb as he might have whispered, “Jeremy.” Silently, Jeremy walks the space between them, analyzing the seating before sitting on the edge of the armchair.  
  
Trying his hardest to find something—anything—to say, he feels his blood rushing in his veins, can practically feel his sweaty hands slipping along his jeans. “Jeremy, I’m-,” he pauses, running a hand through his hair before looking at how Jeremy cautiously observes. “I’m so, so sorry. I never meant to scare you like that. I was scared and frustrated with what happened with my moms and I just…that’s not an excuse. There isn’t one.” He puts every bit of sincerity into his voice, slowing down that see if Jeremy had reacted. Nothing, just a stare.  
  
“I had absolutely no right to yell at you like that and if I could ever make it up to you, I would.” Michael closes his eyes tightly. “I understand if you hate me, if you don’t forgive me, if you walk out of that door and never come back…Hell, that’s what I deserve.”  
  
“I don’t want that,” Jeremy mumbles, making Michael’s eyes snap open to find that they’re both in tears. Michael’s eyes burn and he fights the lump in his throat as he talks.  
  
“You need to—need to know that I would never—could never hurt you the way Eric did. I swear on my life, mine and my mothers’, that you don’t have to be scared of me hitting you. That will never happen, no matter what.”  
  
A single tear leaves a damp track down Jeremy’s cheek and Michael slowly brings his shaking hand forward to almost touch Jeremy’s. “May I?”  
  
Jeremy nods and Michael slips his hand under Jeremy’s, fingers holding fast. “I just-,” Michael’s voice breaks and he feels Jeremy lean forward, running his hand through Michael’s hair. Michael stresses every single word as he says, “Every single part of me loves you more than anything else in the world. Like…Like a kid that loves looking at stars like they can never look at them once and be satisfied? Jeremy, you are one-hundred percent, without a doubt, the best thing that has ever happened to me. I would fight in a million wars to stay by your side.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he finishes, chocking back a sob and Jeremy stays quiet, staring at their entwined hands and then turning his tearful eyes to Michael.  
  
“I forgive you.”  
  
The words stop Michael’s breathing as he looks up with wide eyes, which pose the questions “Why? How? After what I did?”  
  
“You messed up. I don’t deny that, but I love you like the star shining just for the kid. Love, I think, is forgiving and acknowledging mistakes. Working past them. Maybe we’ll have to rebuild a little bit, but that’s love too.” Jeremy’s gentle eyes search Michael, who tries to steady his breathing. “Acknowledging the wrongs, creating the right.”  
  
Sucking in raspy breaths, Michael leans forward, close enough that their breaths mix together. He looks to Jeremy, asking for permission. Jeremy smiles slightly, nodding and Michael closes the distance. The second their lips meet and Jeremy is all Michael can feel, smell, think, taste, the buzzing nerves in him calm, the hazy feeling of redemption overpowering the guilt, but all Michael can feel is love. Adoration. Affection. Ardency. Passion. Every synonym for love pales in comparison.  
  
Jeremy’s lips are soft and the feeling of them alone can almost bring Michael to tears. A single week without them and it’s like he’s been starving, frail and waiting.  
  
Michael brings his hand up, trailing the skin of Jeremy’s neck lightly before cupping his jaw, fingers dancing across his smooth skin and he pulls back to breathe before leaning in once more, capturing Jeremy’s lips again. Jeremy kisses back, hands clutching the neckline of Michael’s shirt tightly. Michael smiles against Jeremy’s lips, parting from the boy to hoist him off the chair and into his lap, facing him.  
  
Michael dives in once more, unsure if he can ever stop at this point. The desperate need for Jeremy had scared him too bad. He moves down, pressing featherlight kisses to Jeremy’s jawline as his fingers card through soft curls.  
  
“I love you so much,” Michael whispers into Jeremy’s skin as the boy drapes his arms around Michael’s neck pulling him even closer.  
  
“I love you more,” Jeremy replies warmly, smiling into yet another kiss.  
  
…………….  
  
A week. A whole entire week since Jeremy had come home and Michael had apologized. They find that they can work around the previous absence of each other, Jeremy going to the animal shelter as usual every day and Michael not really knowing what to do with his life with his book done. All that matters to him is that he wakes up to arms around his stomach and a peck on the cheek and a layer of sweat because New Jersey Augusts can be hell for cuddlers.  
  
Christine formally comes over to apologize for her coldness, to which Michael apologizes for breaking his promise to her.  
  
As for Rich and Jake…well they’re just Rich and Jake. They drag Michael and Jeremy on a double date to the yogurt place a few nights after they make up, which went as well as you would expect.  
  
(“Rich, you can’t just claim random Dis-,”  
  
“No, Jake, the guy from Mulan is totally bi.”  
  
Michael gasps, letting his spoon drop in mock horror. “Captain Li Shang deserves more respect than just ‘the guy from Mulan’, Richard.”)  
  
As for Jenna…  
  
(“Um, guys?” Jenna yells from the kitchen, where her and Brooke had been fixing drinks. The rest of the group walks in, ready for a new piece of gossip or revealed scandal. Instead, Jenna plasters on a huge smile. “Mikey, how’s your book sales coming along?”  
  
Confused, Michael answers. “Uh, good? Why?”  
  
“Well, I think they’re fixing to get a whole lot better.” She looks down at her phone, reading from something aloud. “’Just picked up this gem a day ago. Fantastic. Love the Mountain Dew drugs.’”  
  
“Is that—like—an Amazon review or something?” Jeremy asks, playing with the end of his shirt absentmindedly.  
  
“Or something,” Jenna squeals. “Stephen King, father of horror, tweeted that three hours ago!”  
  
“WHAT THE F-,”  
  
“OH MY GOD!”  
  
“ARE YOU JOKING?  
  
“About…my book?”)  
  
What about Jeremy and Michael, you ask?  
  
They live. They love. They take the part of their relationship that cracked and wear it with pride because against the odds, they vowed to build it again.  
  
Of course, Jeremy still has bad days and nightmares and Michael still has sensory overload and panic attacks, but they’re there for each other, and that’s what matters. They calm each episode like only they can.  
  
One night, a few weeks after the incident, Michael walks into his—their. It’s their now—room and finds Jeremy sitting on the bed smiling down at a book. At second glance, he realizes that the book is Be More Chill. His book.  
  
Grinning, Michael slides to sit next to him, wrapping his arm around Jeremy on instinct and going to kiss his head. “Whatcha doing?”  
  
Wordlessly, Jeremy turns the book to him and Michael recognizes the page immediately.  
  
The dedication.  
  
_I dedicate this book to the many friends and family members that supported me on this journey._  
  
_And to Jeremy, my love. When you smiled at me at the coffee shop, I knew._  
  
_I knew._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so.  
> This is it.  
> (Ofc there will be an epilogue, I'm not that evil.)  
> Actually, in honor of this, I made a playlist of songs that reminded me of Mikey and Jer, the story, or just things I listened to that fueled the writing. You can find it on my youtube channel, as it is literally the only thing on it. The channel is called "down the ally", playlist named "Where's Michael". Check it out!  
> Also, I'm working on another fic that has been in the making for quite a while (Yes, more boyf riends) so stay tuned for that.  
> Thank you all so much for sticking with me. I appreciate it.  
> Goodbye.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonus chapter/epilogue/what am i doing with my life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp. Here it is. The very last update. Very much so overdue, but just take my generic excuse and read.

Three years. Three whole years since Michael confessed on that fateful night. Since the incident, the two used the experience to grow closer and older. Michael watches as Jeremy finally gets a sustainable job at the theater that Christine frequents.  
  
(“Tech?” Michael asks, excited nonetheless as Jeremy comes home with the surprise. “Didn’t you say that you were the male Canigula?”  
  
Flushing red, Jeremy bites his lip. “I did that back in high school, Micah. Soundboard is more my thing, I guess.”)  
  
Jeremy watches as Michael’s book blows up, becoming a rival to a John Green hit.  
  
(“Yo, Michael, I saw you got 1 million on Twitter! And you aren’t even a meme page! Way to go, babe!” Jeremy sidles up to his boyfriend, arm sliding around Michael’s waist. Michael snorts, replying with a smirk.  
  
“Okay, don’t pretend you aren’t half of them.”  
  
“Pshhhh, whaaaat? At least you haven’t seen the fanfic.” The last part is said quietly, fast enough that Jeremy might get away with saying it.  
  
“How do you know I haven’t—Wait, did you read fanfiction about my book?”)  
  
About two years after everything, Rich moves out to live with Jake and, even though Michael jokes that it’s the biggest bro betrayal, everyone pitches in to help Rich move.  
  
So, pretty soon, Michael and Jeremy share an apartment, Michael finally letting up their grocery agreement and letting them split the rent, much to Jeremy’s delight. The years go by, with birthdays and Halloweens and family reunions. (Michael’s moms insisted that Jeremy comes.)  
  
Though Michael wouldn’t take back a single second of his time with Jeremy, he begins to notice that something is bothering him more than he would like to admit.  
  
……………..  
  
To: Heere n’ Queer  
  
Hey, babe. Stopped by sev elev for old time sake. What flavor?  
  
Smiling, Michael looks up from his phone to the wall of churning slushy machines, trying to decide on his. In his hand, the phone buzzes.  
  
From: Heere n’ Queer  
  
You do realize you wanted to cook Indian tonight…would that mix well with a slushy?  
  
Michael shakes his head, swiping two large cups from the counter.  
  
To: Heere n’ Queer  
  
Has that ever mattered? Tiger’s Blood for you :-p  
  
Pocketing the device, he fills the two gigantic cups and pays, shouldering the door open and sauntering out to his car, possibly even more beat up than it was years ago. As he rides the near empty streets, something strangely uncommon for 8:00, he absentmindedly watches the sun sets in the sky. Soon, it would be getting darker earlier and that means cold weather comes, which means that the holidays are approaching, which all leads back to cuddling and hot chocolate, something that makes Michael’s insides all warm and fuzzy. He used to love the end months of the year long before Jeremy, but he just makes it all better. Who else would spontaneously buy him fuzzy Target socks?  
  
Later that night, Michael joins Jeremy on the now worn couch, letting his fingers curl in Jeremy’s locks that got slightly longer over the years. The boyish acne had faded somewhat, leaving Jeremy to scowl at scars and random breakouts. Now, his eyes seem to be even brighter than they used to be and, as Michael stares into them, he finds Jeremy’s hand and grasps it, thanking his lucky stars that he somehow got Jeremy. That seems to be a reoccurring thought in his head, since even the moment they first kissed.  
  
Clutching the boy’s clammy hand, the realization of what had been bothering Michael hits him like a brick to the head.  
  
Jeremy’s left ring finger seems to be a bit bare for Michael’s taste.  
  
…….  
  
Taking a shuddering breath, Michael tries to straighten his bowtie but fails miserably. Hell, he didn’t have any luck in straightening his sexuality in middle school, why should a bowtie work?  
  
“Let me help,” Rich sighs fondly, standing from the plush couch and crossing the room, sporting the same tuxedo he wore to Michael’s original book release party. Rich’s surprisingly sweaty hands clutch the fabric as he fixes the bowtie before patting the sides of Michael’s own tux, flicking the rose in the lapel.  
  
“You’re really sweaty,” Michael remarks, smirking slightly as he turns back into the mirror to run his hands through his hair.  
  
“You can’t talk,” Rich shoots back, nervously brushing his hands along his pants.  
  
Michael scoffs. “I’m getting married. What’s your excuse?”  
  
Rolling his eyes, Rich checks his watch, face falling as he presses his lips together. “It’s starting in about 20 minutes. Your moms said they wanted to talk to you before, so I’ll go grab them.” Quickly, he’s out the door and there’s nothing for Michael to do but sit down, flexing his hands as the realization of his situation finally sinks in.  
  
“I’m getting married to Jeremy,” he mumbles to himself in disbelief, not trying to fight the smile on his face.  
  
“Yes, you are, syota,” Jasmine chuckles, sauntering into the room, followed by Aniela. Michael laughs, rising on still-shaking legs to greet them both.  
  
“Hey,” he breathes, pulling them both close. “Is Jeremy already-,”  
  
“Don’t worry about Jeremy, love,” Aniela cuts in, breaking away with a smile.  
  
“Um…that’s kind of my job? He’s gonna be my husband in less than an hour?” Michael furrows his eyebrows as Jasmine nudges Aniela with her elbow.  
  
“She meant,” she starts with grit teeth, “that Jeremy is fine. We…wanted to give you something.”  
  
Her smile softens as she watches Aniela bring her hands out from behind her back. She hands Michael a small box wrapped in cloth and he quickly pulls it off, coming to face a jet-black box with gold hinges. He narrows his eyes, flicking them up to his mothers as he wonders what they did.  
  
“Well?” Jasmine laughs, exposing brilliantly white teeth. “Open it.”  
  
She doesn’t need to tell Michael twice as he flips the top up. Sitting on a bed of thin black fabric is what looks like a crystal raindrop. Michael feels his face fall into a mask of curiosity. As he looks back up, he notices the women’s entwined hands, the wedding rings custom made with…diamonds cut into raindrops on the bands.  
  
Racking his brain, Michael tries to remember what Aniela had told him about raindrops being a wedding tradition in the Philippines and it all comes to him.  
  
Raindrops represent prosperity and happiness.  
  
Pressing his lips together, Michael fights back tears at the gesture, daring to trace his finger over the precious gift.  
  
“Oh, my god,” he whispers in awe. “Thank you.” The box isn’t even fully closed before Aniela and Jasmine tackle him in a hug. Like a missing puzzle piece, he fits perfectly in between their arms and he lets his head fall forward on instinct. Feeling the warmth of his mothers’ breaths mixing with his, he pulls back with a teary-eyed smile. “Jesus, this is…amazing,” he marvels once more, gesturing to the box.  
  
Aniela seems to be fighting back tears of her own as she opens her mouth to speak before getting interrupted by a knock on the door.  
  
“Come in,” Michael says loudly, watching as the door opens a few inches and Christine pops her head in.  
  
“Oh, Groom,” she sings with a laugh, “It’s time.”  
  
Michael feels his body go numb at those words and sweat pools in his palms. “Right,” he whispers, trying his best not to shake.  
  
Jasmine takes the opportunity to lean up and kiss his cheek, Aniela following, and whispering a short. “We love you.”  
  
And then Christine is right. It’s time.  
  
…………  
  
The morning after Michael decided he was dead set on proposing, he forms a group chat entitled “Please Help”, including everyone but Jeremy.  
  
Not revealing anything, he orders everyone to meet at Denny’s on the hour. All important meetings are held at Denny’s.  
  
“Okay,” Chloe says with narrowed eyes as she slides into a seat, the last to arrive with Brooke. “What is this about? Why did you make a group chat without Jeremy? You wouldn’t need to unless...,” she trails off, getting a far-away look in her eyes before beaming. “Please tell me you’re gonna-,”  
  
“Say,” Michael starts nervously, making random gestures, “hypothetically if a certain someone were to propose to a certain…someone, how would they go about doing so?”  
  
Immediately, the table erupts in cheers and Christine grasps his hands in her frozen ones. “Really?” Her beam is almost as bright as the artificial light.  
  
He nods, chuckling, and she pulls back. Her face is set in a small smirk and she begins to plan dutifully, the others throwing out ideas.  
  
“I just…I want it to be special for him. Something for us, you know?”  
  
“Oh!” Rich yells, causing a few employees to give him scathing looks. “He adores your cooking. Make him those pizza bagels. The ones you made before but put the ring on the plate inside of the bagel hole.”  
  
Michael considers this as Brooke gushes. “That’s so cute! In, you know, like, a greasy sort of way.”  
  
“Yo, Mike,” Jenna smirks, turning from where she and Chloe had been brainstorming. “Jeremy still works at the shelter, right?”  
  
Before he can even say ‘yes’, Chloe lays out their idea. “Okay, so you surprise him at work with, like, a coffee. Or slushy. Whatever your thing is.”  
  
Michael pictures himself nervously fixing his coat in the window of the shelter lobby before asking permission to get to the gated backyard. He faintly remembers a bench being back there. He just has to time it where Jeremy is out there. If he got the rest of the staff in on it…  
  
“We’ll come in a few minutes behind you and tie a box with a ring in it around one of the dogs’ neck. You can have a treat or something with you so when it comes running up, you can give it to it and take the box and propose. I also suggest keeping the dog.” She finishes her statement with a nod and a sip of her drink, Brooke looking at her with pride.  
  
Michael bites his lip, too excited to eat any of his English muffin. “That’s…a fantastic idea.” He looks up to his friends with a giddy smile. “Let’s do it.”  
  
……………  
The plan is to meet Jeremy in the back of the place and walk down the aisle together because screw tradition. So, when Michael steps out of his dressing room and glances down the hall, all the feeling returns in his body. Standing in front of the big, closed white doors is Jeremy in his tailored suit. God, he looks so perfect. Albeit, a little nervous, but that just makes him so much more real. His curls look like they’re gelled and his gorgeous freckles are visible on his pale skin and, with every second he stands there, Michael swears he can feel himself falling even deeper in love.  
  
Jeremy seems to notice him because he stops gnawing on his lip and smiles at his soon-to-be husband, face flushing as his eyes rake Michael. Michael melts at the sight of that smile, registering the fact that he can see it for the rest of his life.  
  
Michael takes no time in crossing the huge room, smiles settling on his lips as he goes to link arms with Jeremy.  
  
“Hello, my husband,” he says lowly, though the only others in the room are his moms and Christine.  
  
Jeremy laughs, leaning into Michael. “Not quite yet.”  
  
“Technicalities,” Michael mutters, ducking his head to catch Jeremy in a kiss. “Soon,” he whispers as they part, more as a reminder to himself.  
  
“Soon,” Jeremy mirrors with a smile.  
  
“Hate to break a moment,” Christine interjects in a whisper, “but the doors are fixing to open. Let us get in front of you, you greedy eggs.”  
  
Holding a hand up in a show of innocence, Michael guides Jeremy away from the door so that when they open, Christine and Mrs. and Mrs. Mell will walk.  
  
And they do.  
  
All too soon, it’s the boys’ turn and Michael feels a flutter of those god-awful butterflies again. This time, though, he can live with them. He can embrace them.  
  
Jeremy squeezes Michael’s arm and pulls him gently forwards, as the music had picked up. Their cue. When they take the first steps into the room, Michael notices the people in the pews, as well as the gigantic room. The room is a white sort of color, stained windows on each wall and at the head of the room. Lit candles line the room, as well as actual chandeliers. When Jasmine had told him this place was pretty swanky, he didn’t think it would be this…expensive looking.  
  
All the heads turn as they walk to the altar, each holding onto the other like a lifeline. Michael can’t help turning his eyes and gazing at this man beside him. Somehow, magically, his touch calmed the shaking that ran to Michael’s bones, cleared his skin, and made his crops flourish. Overdramatic? I think not. To Michael, Jeremy is a rare, precious metal in a room full of rags that pale in comparison.  
  
By the time they had reached the end of the aisle, Michael found it hard to let go of Jeremy. He let out a quiet breath and began to listen to the officiator, though he doesn’t break eye contact with his love.  
  
……  
  
Swallowing all of his nerves, Michael pulls open the door to the shelter, the small ding making the woman at the desk look up.  
  
“Hi! Michael, right?” Huh. She must remember him from the countless times Jeremy brought him to see the animals.  
  
“Yeah. Uh, I called yesterday and-,”  
  
“Oh, right,” she says in a hushed voice, a smile overtaking her features. Black wispy hair frames her face, falling out of her ponytail and she sticks a hand out for him to shake before pulling it back when she sees he has no free hands. “Hi, I’m Lin. Jeremy’s outside. I told him that he had playtime duty out back until four.”  
  
“Doesn’t sound like much of a duty,” Michael remarks, wishing he could play with animals for a living. “You said out back?”  
  
“Yup. Everyone knows, so if anyone asks, just say your name.”  
  
“Thanks,” Michael grins, tightening his grip on both coffee cups and taking a deep breath before taking a step towards the back.  
  
“Oh, wait!” Lin calls, “Any preference on the breed to bring out the ring?”  
  
“Um…surprise me. We’ll be keeping it.”  
  
With that, he finds his way deeper into the building and to the door that leads outside.  
  
“Hey,” he calls, catching the attention of Jeremy, who kneels before a corgi. They seem to be playing tug of war and it looks like the dog is winning. A small pinscher sits poised, watching while a few more dogs run around.  
  
Jeremy looks up and grins, giving up on the game and giving the corgi a pat on the head before standing and greeting Michael, who had made it to him.  
  
“Hey, love,” he says in a surprised tone as he takes the coffee offered to him. “I didn’t know you were stopping by.”  
  
“Wanted to surprise you,” Michael chuckles, wrapping an arm around Jeremy and kissing his forehead. “How’s your day been.”  
  
“Pretty okay, you?” Jeremy motions for them to sit on the bench in the shade while Michael answers.  
  
“It’s definitely been a day.”  
  
Michael huffs a breath as he sits, leaning back and propping his arm on the back of the seat. The dog would be out soon. “What are their names, again?”  
  
“Oh, that’s Jacki, Sophie, Ben, Missy, and Sasha,” Jeremy says quickly, pointing to each dog. Michael only half pays attention, too engrossed in his proposal speech.  
  
“Right.” In his pocket, his phone buzzes and he shifts himself casually so that Jeremy can’t read the incoming text from Christine that just reads: Showtime!  
  
On cue, the back door swings open, letting loose a small white husky puppy and Michael lets out a low whistle to draw it over. Seeing the two men, it breaks out in a run, tiny legs carrying it across dead grass. It comes to rest at their feet before hopping on its hind legs to try and jump up. Leaning over to pick it up, Michael notices the group’s handiwork: a red ribbon tying a black box to the nape of the pup’s neck.  
  
Michael smiles to himself as he picks up the dog and sitting it on his lap. Jeremy laughs beside him before going eerily silent.  
  
“What’s-,”  
  
Michael slips the box from its place, sliding off of the bench and falling to his knee. The puppy hops off as well, sniffing around Michael’s legs.  
  
He watches as Jeremy sits bolt upright, mouthing a curse, before covering his mouth in shock.  
  
Barely registering the crowd of giddy staff members and friends, Michael flips open the box and starts.  
  
“Jeremy Heere, I love you more than anything. You are the light of my life and my better half. I know that if I got to spend the rest of my life with you, it still wouldn’t be enough, but it’s a start. Sure, we’re just dying embers, disintegrating ashes in the grand scheme of things, but what I feel for you, my love, is greater than the universe, brighter than a billion suns and then some, to infinity and beyond.” Michael pauses, slipping in a small wink at the reference and noting that both have tears in their eyes, but he continues. “You are the stardust that graced my life. You’re my best friend, favorite person, and my love, so I ask you this hoping that whatever luck I had in meeting you will let me have you beside me forever. Will you marry me?”  
  
The silence is deafening as Jeremy blinks a few times, a slow tear trailing down his cheek, before he smiles wide, stumbling forward and Michael stands quickly, catching him in a tight embrace. Michael can hear light cries in his ear and he pulls back, gazing searchingly into Jeremy’s red-rimmed cerulean eyes before Jeremy surges forward and kisses him hard, arms looping around Michael’s neck.  
  
The taller of the two supports both of their weight as they have their moment before Jeremy pulls back, red still dusting his face.  
  
“You never answered,” Rich calls from far behind them where everyone is watching and Michael doesn’t break eye contact with Jeremy as he flips Rich off.  
  
“Yes,” Jeremy chokes out. “Of course, Michael,” he breathes as Michael finds the box in the grass and opens it once more, gingerly slipping the band onto Jeremy’s extended ring finger.  
  
“God, I love you,” Michael mutters into another breathtaking kiss.  
  
……..  
  
Somehow, Michael had gotten this far without exploding. They had surpassed the boring “Dearly beloved” and slightly more interesting vows, and were now onto the “I do’s”, which had Michael nearly vibrating with excitement.  
  
Any second, now.  
  
He feels Jeremy squeeze both of his hands tightly as the officiator turns to him.  
  
“Do you, Jeremiah Heere, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband? Will you be to him a faithful, loving, and devoted husband? Will you honor, obey, and love him and remain with him in sickness and in health, in prosperity and adversity; and forsaking all others, keep yourself only unto him, so long as you both shall live?”  
  
In Michael’s watery mind, he hears a muffled “I do” from Jeremy.  
  
The man then turns to Michael, repeating the paragraph and Michael looks up from him and Jeremy’s conjoined hands to those beautiful eyes. The eyes that he was infatuated with when he first met Jeremy in the café, the eyes that brightened up around him the farther away from Eric he got, the eyes that he found himself getting lost in every time he looked at them. In Jeremy’s ocean eyes, Michael was lost at sea, and he was perfectly fine with that. So, as he keeps his gaze on the eyes that he adored for over three years, he feels a smile tug at his lips.  
  
He seals the deal with two words. “I do.”  
  
“Then, Mr. and Mr. Mell-Heere, I now pronounce you, with the power invested in me, husbands in marriage. You may now…okay.”  
  
Michael had already jumped, pulling Jeremy’s face close to his and kissing him long and deep. He faintly hears a few chuckles from the audience at his eagerness, but as he feels Jeremy’s arms loop around his waist, he finds himself not caring.  
  
He peppers his husband’s face with kisses and-  
  
Oh. He can say that now, can’t he? Hi, this is my husband. Sorry, I have to excuse myself. Why? Oh, my husband is calling. My husband and I would like a table, please.  
  
Jesus, it feels amazing.  
  
As Michael rests his forehead upon Jeremy’s, eyes dotting from feature to shining feature, he can only form one thought, which he voices.  
  
“I love you,” he whispers, and Jeremy smiles, quickly kissing the corner of his mouth.  
  
“I love you more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How original, Ally. A wedding. You're a bonafide genius.  
> I get it.   
> Would the pizza bagels have been more boyfs? Probably. Did my love for dogs win out? Definitely.  
> Right, so I wanna say thank you all so much for reading and enjoying and fueling this thing. I'm definitely gonna miss it.  
> (SincerelyDoReMi is writing an absolutely amazing prequel to this with the story of Jeremy and Eric, so check that out! Also, i haven't been doing nothing, per se. I've been working on another boyfs fic called Don't Cry, Romeo, so look for some new stuff on that!)  
> Well, i suppose this is it.  
> Thank you and adieu.

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of an early crush, hm, Mikey?  
> Hope you enjoyed, this is about to be a wild ride, lemme tell you.  
> Leave some love. It helps a social anxiety riddled, validation-craving girl sleep at night.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Who's Michael?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12293973) by [SincerelyDoReMi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SincerelyDoReMi/pseuds/SincerelyDoReMi)




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